WEB-GUN
by jaceyrose18
Summary: Kanang makakita kag old picture nimo maka ingon kag "Wow..ing ana gyud ko kabatig nawong?"


**WEBGUN**

Summary:

On the run, Peter has managed to carve out a living as an escort. It was lucrative work, self-managed, and provided him with the anonymity and security that he so desperately needed.

But, he never accounted for meeting Wade.

Chapter 1

It was yet another balmy summer night in Manhattan, New York.

The air hung stagnant and heavy with the smell of stale piss. Raised voices and honking horns echoed in the distance, pulsing in time with the heartbeat of the city. Grinning hugely beneath his mask, Wade Wilson took a deep breath, eyes closed, and reveled in it all.

It was good to be home.

The past two weeks had been a study in monotony. Kill a despot at a political ball here, single handedly slay an entire guerrilla faction there. Stupid, tedious shit. Though, despite the tedium and the fact that he would still be picking Amazonian leeches off of his ass for the next week, it had been a good trip all things considered. His offshore bank accounts were bulging at the seams and single-handedly bolstering the economic stability of Switzerland.

Plus, his benefactor gave him this really sweet tux as a part of the job.

Wade glanced down at the crisp lines of his three piece tuxedo and ran his hands reverently down his chest with a grin. The rich, Italian wool tapered to cinch in just below his massive lats and rest at his natural waist. White silk framed the frayed edge of his mask in a gentle flow that just screamed 'money.'

The ostentatious get-up was just begging for a splotch of taco grease from a highly questionable food cart.

"Dressed up like a million dollar trouper," he began to sing, sidestepping his way down the litter-strewn avenue without any particular destination in mind. The first rough note of his gravelly voice brought passerby up short, until they noticed the spectacle that was Deadpool in a tux and hurriedly gave him as wide a berth as possible on the sidewalk.

"Trying hard to look like Gary Cooper!" he continued unabated, attempting to break into a tap dance routine that ultimately landed him on the ground.

Brushing the dirt off of his trousers, Wade laughed uproariously and tried again with little success, finally settling for a graceless Charleston step instead. Quads that thick weren't meant for delicate foot-work.

As he made his way down the avenue and rounded the corner, Wade came to an abrupt stop, leg comically suspended in the air. "I may not be a praying man, but I think I may have just found me some religion," he purred, letting out a low, tuneless whistle.

Across the street, a young man methodically went about stapling colorful flyers to a derelict lamp post already so heavy with paper that it fluttered as cars passed. Every time he bent at the waist to retrieve another handful of papers, Wade's heart threatened to explode from his double-breasted lapel.

"This must be what love feels like," he whispered reverently as he watched the man's jeans pull taunt over one of the most perfect sets of buttocks he had ever laid eyes upon.

Without hesitation, the merc strode across the street, dodging traffic, and sidled up close for a more diligent inspection.

"Are you butt-dialing me? Because, I swear, that ass is calling," he remarked, staring unabashedly at the artful crinkle of material where the kid's thigh met the swell of his ass.

The young man stopped in his tracks, one of the flyers still in his hands. Then he turned his head towards Wade. But only his head. His ass stayed right where it was, in plain sight.

Damn, this kid knew how to flirt.

His face was enough to distract from his glorious buttocks, though. Big, brown doe-eyes with delicate lashes framed the bridge of a long nose, leading down to full, soft-looking lips. Strands of brown hair fell over his high forehead, part of a thick, fluffy mess that made him not only the most beautiful, but also the cutest man Wade had ever seen in his entire life. Damn it. This guy was worth taking from both sides.

"It might be," he replied, and even his voice was perfect in every way. "If you have what it takes to pick up."

He held the flyer he had just taken out to Wade, as if this would decide whether his ass would be flirting back or not. One look at it made clear though why this was the case.

With Herculean effort, Wade broke eye-contact to study the seemingly innocuous flyer.

The smooth contours of a strikingly familiar set of assets, clothed in nothing more than form-fitting, red silk boxers, were the first thing to draw his attention.

It was a flattering picture, but paled in comparison to the real deal.

Beneath the image, rich red text flowed across the page, crafting the framework for some truly impressive innuendo. Wade murmured the ad aloud as he scanned it, pausing with a sly grin at 'discreet companionship, just a phone-call away!' He cleared his throat and idly adjusted his pocket kerchief.

"My name may have a permanent reservation on Santa's naughty list, but this sure as shit feels like a Christmas miracle, Baby Boy," he stated in a reverent whisper.

"If you want to get the bells ringing, you just have to say the word," the young man teased. "Naughty lists are my specialty." His puns and hitlines were close to Wade's level of terrible, which was kinda attractive in its own right.

If this guy wasn't worth spending money on, nobody in the entire world was.

"As it happens I'm free right now," the Christmas miracle continued. "We'd just have to stop by the next store for lube and some condoms. If you even want to use any, that is. Maybe you like your presents unwrapped."

The mercenary smiled so widely that his mask crinkled at the corners. This was entirely too good to be true. He sauntered closer and leaned against the advertisement laden light post, sure to cant his hips so that his body made a graceful S-curve in silhouette.

"You know, I'm all for supporting local businesses. How about we hash out the details over dinner. I've got a hell of an appetite," he drawled, unabashedly trailing his gaze along the curves of the young man's body. With a husky chuckle, he subtly readjusted his trousers and held out a gloved hand. "Name's Pool. Dead."

The other looked at the hand as if to decide whether to shake it or not. Finally he grabbed it and squeezed it rather hard.

"Peter," he introduced himself. "But as much as I love Christmas dinners, I have to decline. I have very few rules, but one of them is to not play anyone's boyfriend or pretend we're dating. I only offer the gifts, not the turkey. So if you're starving, you can go alone and call me when you're done. I'd be happy to serve as the dessert."

"Oh, Baby Boy, that ain't the kind of meat this hot blooded Canadian is hankering for," he retorted, continuing to shake Peter's hand for an awkward amount of time despite the audible grind of his metacarpals.

Jesus, this kid had a hell of a grip.

"In that case, there's a hotel just a few blocks from here. Maybe we should skip right to dessert instead. And on tonight's menu: a Deadpool sundae with extra nuts," he finished in a stage whisper, swiveling his hips and giving a lavacious wink for unnecessary emphasis.

Peter kept an impressively straight face as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Either he was immune to really bad innuendos or he had a good control over his expressions. Or maybe both.

"Speaking of menus, don't you want to know a bit more of what you'll be getting into before we go anywhere? Maybe the things I have to offer aren't on your Christmas wish list. Or maybe they are too expensive. Though I assume a man in a fancy suit like yours shouldn't have a problem with that."

"Oh, this old thing?" Wade squealed in an affected falsetto as he snapped his lapels. Shaking his head and laughing at his own outlandishness, the merc sidled up close enough to loop an arm around Peter's waist and sink his hand into the kid's back pocket. "Yeah, I gotcha. I think this should just about cover Santa's expenses," he said lowly, attempting to keep his words trapped in the tight, intimate press of their bodies.

It would put a serious damper on the night to have to knock together any local law enforcement heads.

He snuck in a soft squeeze, then reluctantly removed his hand from Peter's ass, leaving behind a thick wad of bills.

"I guess so," the teen mumbled, softly running his own hand over the bulge in his back pocket. It felt like more than enough to cover an hour. He and the masked man in the suit would probably spend a good amount of time together now.

"So you just bought the cat in the bag, huh?" he raised his voice a little. "Into surprises much? I hope you'll like what Santa has to offer you. Because I don't do refunds. I have to feed the reindeer, after all."

"Careful now, any more of these holiday metaphors and I may just Kris all over your Kringle right here and now," Wade retorted.

"Ah, ah, ah, hold it in the sack, big boy," Peter shook his head and patted Wade's chest. "Let's at least get some privacy before we light the Christmas Tree."

"Jesus, you are literally perfect," Wade remarked as he cocked his head in wonder. "Alright, fuck it. Let's blow this popsicle stand." With casual grace, he laced a finger through one of Peter's belt loops and urged him to follow with a light tug.

The thin trickle of foot traffic around them began to build into a healthy flow of anonymous faces as they proceeded up the avenue. Discomfited by the press of unwashed bodies, Wade shifted his arm so that he could instead rest a hand on the small of Peter's back.

The subtle intimacy of the motion didn't go unnoticed.

"I can walk on my own," the escort remarked and brushed Wade's arm off. "I won't run away just because you've already paid me, no worries. And don't forget to stop by the next drug store. I do the rough stuff, but lube is a must, or your sleigh won't slide anywhere tonight."

"Run away? As if you could resist this prime piece of real estate," Wade scoffed in mock offense. "And, speaking of, do you really expect a hot hunk of ass like mine to roam the streets unprepared?" With that, he reached into the silk lining of his jacket pocket and pulled out a generous bottle of personal lubricant, flipping it idly in the air.

The affronted glances around them were so worth it.

"Well, look who put a plate with cookies out for Santa here," Peter said, leaving the remarks about Wade's irresistibility uncommented. "Then I guess we can go find the North Pole right away. Unless you want any special little gadgets to be involved. This came out of the blue, so I don't have my equipment with me. Though I can assure you that what mother nature blessed me with works just fine on its own, too."

Wade beamed at the way Peter's coy smile kissed his cheeks with a youthful glow.

But, before he could respond, a man rudely bumped shoulders with the escort and continued on his way, muttering expletives. Immediately, Deadpool's hand shot up to brace the small of Peter's back and pull him close once more. "Rude fucker," he growled at the retreating figure, eyes flashing.

As soon as his attention refocused on his companion, his broad smile returned.

"Yeah, that sounds good." It sounded better than good.

Peter furrowed his brow though and twisted himself out of Wade's embrace.

"Could you please stop that," he requested. "I really am capable of walking on my own. And I can very well defend myself if needed to. Again: I am not one to play your boyfriend or behave like your date. If that is what you are looking for, maybe you should hire someone else."

Raising his hands in supplication, Wade side stepped to put some space between them. "Shit, sorry man. It's just instinct, you know?" he muttered, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets with perhaps more force than necessary. "Anyways, that's it just up ahead."

Peter looked up to eye the establishment Wade had chosen for them.

The hotel in question was a non-descript brick building on the corner of Lexington Ave. with a cloth overhang that read _Ramada_ in bright red font. Faux wood siding gave the first two stories an almost homey atmosphere. Or at least much more inviting than the gaudy facades and cheap stucco that plastered the rest of the block.

It was a comfortable middle ground as far as hotels went in New York.

"Looks nice," the young man nodded. "I hope you can afford this after you so generously paid me in advance."

Wade's rich baritone laugh rang out above the din of the traffic.

"Oh, don't you worry your pretty little head about that. I'm sure you're worth every last coke-stained Benjamin," he remarked, amused. "Anyways, did you even check to make sure that I didn't just slip you a wad of singles?" With a sly smile, he casually stepped backwards into traffic. Tires squealed around him and thickened the air with the scent of burnt rubber.

Peter's expression changed into a mixture of disbelief and the kind of annoyance you show towards someone who does really stupid things to get attention. Which honestly really fitted Wade very well.

"No," he replied, following him onto the street where the cars had - thanks to Wade - already stopped by now. "I won't just pull out a huge bundle of money here in public and count the notes. I will do so once we're in private. Trust me, I _will_ make sure you paid for what you will be getting. Should you still be alive then, that is."

Still standing in the middle of the lane, Wade doubled over in laughter. "Still... alive," he finally managed to choke out as he wiped away a non-existent tear.

The joke was completely lost on Peter.

Without warning, the sharp clarion call of a taxi horn abruptly pierced the mercenary's warm glow at seeing his companion's put-upon expression. With a growl, he slammed his hand on the hood and pointed a threatening finger at the driver, who merely gestured back with a finger of his own.

For a moment Peter thought about just turning around and leaving.

This guy was obviously insane. Then again he had paid him a huge amount of money without even asking twice and he was without doubt totally into Peter. So why let this opportunity of earning his rent and maybe a new laptop slip so easily? If this tuxedo-wearing weirdo got out of control, Peter could still very well defend himself. As long as Deadpool kept to Peter's rules, there was no need to reject him.

He strode over to Wade and gently grabbed his arm, pulling him into the direction of the hotel.

"No need to prove to me what a strong and fearless guy you are," he purred, letting go of Wade again as soon as he followed his tugging. "I'm already all yours. So stop wasting your energy on this taxi driver. You will still need it if you want to use the time you paid for to its full capacity."

"Oh, methinks that sounded like a challenge. Don't let this muscular physique fool you, kid, there's plenty of stamina to go along with it. And believe me, time won't be the only fuckin' thing filled to capacity," he responded cheekily. Sailing past Peter on the sidewalk, Wade hip-checked the bellhop and opened the door for him with a flourish.

"After you, beautiful."

"I'm curious," Peter admitted with a little smirk as he walked past Wade and entered the hotel lobby. "So far no one could keep up with my stamina."

And even if it sounded like it, that was not a joke.

Rolling his eyes, Wade sauntered in after Peter and artfully leaned across the reception desk.

The harried receptionist glanced up and attempted to smile, though it faltered halfway. To be fair, the red and black mask was a bit offputting to people who didn't know Wade, and downright terrifying to those who did.

"Um, hello…sir," she rallied admirably, though the welcome sounded more like a question. "Welcome to the Ramada East-Side. Do you happen to have a reservation?"

The hope in her eyes was nearly tangible.

Wade took pity on the woman and answered simply. "No. But I was hoping you maybe had a single available for the night. Two adults, one bed, street view preferred but not necessary. Sturdy bed frame." He let the implication hang heavily in the air and tossed a glance back at Peter with a salacious wink.

"Er… Let me just check if we have a free room available…" the lady stammered and began to click around on her computer screen while Peter just waited with his arms crossed, leaned against the silvery pillar close to the desk. He knew exactly how to play to the gallery. Then again, with his looks that wasn't really hard.

"We only have one room left on the fourth floor," the receptionist had to give in after a moment. The sound of her voice made clear that she would have loved every room to be taken rather than to rent one to the man in front of her. "That would be 204.30$ for the night, including continental breakfast and free Wifi. Shall I book it for you, sir?"

"Yeah, sure thing, toots," Wade replied. The pet name rankled just as much as he had expected it to if the angry key-strokes were any indication.

"I'll need to see an ID and of course a credit card to hold on file for any…incidental damages," she stated with a snide pause.

Wade laughed good-naturedly and fished out a slim, silver cigar case from his jacket. He handed over the cards and attempted to wait. As patiently as he could, at least. The hotel was probably going to realize that there was a pretty horrific series of scuff marks on the front of the desk come morning.

"Alright Mr. Jack…Hammer," she hesitated at the name and a tiny furrow graced her brow.

"Yeah, ma had a strange sense of humor. Just call me Weasel," Deadpool informed her with a grin. Shaking her head, the receptionist glanced at the ID. "I'll have to ask you to remove your mask, sir, in order to verify your identity."

"Ha. That's not going to happen, darlin'. Have you ever imagined what a Cabbage Patch doll would look like after being lit on fire and tossed into Schrodinger's box for a night? Nothing pretty, I assure you."

The scuff marks continued to pile up.

"Sir, I really must insist," the woman said, patience stretched thin.

With a quick glance to make sure Peter was looking elsewhere, Wade pulled the mask up to his brow.

"Boo."

He returned his mask to its rightful place while the receptionist simply stared for a long moment, expression blank. Without a word, she handed the cards back and quickly retrieved the confirmation letter from a nearby printer. She slid the paper over along with a simple map of the building. "Alright Mr. Hammer, elevators are located in the lobby just across the way." She indicated the direction with a freshly manicured finger and a pointed look. "Your room number is four eighteen and will be on the fourth floor to the left. If there is anything at all that we can help you with during your stay please do not hesitate to dial 0 on your room phone. I hope you gentlemen enjoy your stay."

With finality, she set a matching set of key cards on the counter and excused herself into the back office.

Wade snatched up the pile of papers and leaned back on his elbows. "Well, we're all set, Baby Boy," he reported with a wink.

"Finally," Peter sighed and pushed off the column. "You're lucky that I only count the time from the moment the door closes and the rules are set."

He made his way over to the elevator, assuming that whichever room they had gotten would surely not be located on the ground floor. Which was good. Somehow he felt safer in higher regions.

"Aww, don't be like that, sweet cheeks. Anticipation is the best kind of fun! But, incidentally, so is immediate gratification. I'm not entirely sure what my point is," Wade rambled on as he jabbed the elevator call-button. "Anyhoo, it's room four eighteen. Low enough to keep good oxygenation for breathy moaning and high enough for those breathy moans to really carry."

The whir of gears punctuated their conversation as they waited.

"Ah, so you're a moaner? Or do you expect _me_ to moan? Because if so, you will either have to tell me in advance so I can fulfill your wishes, or you have to be remarkably good. If you want to, you can tell me to do it and I will be nice and not let you know whether I only did it because you asked for it or whether you really were that great." He winked at Wade and then gracefully slid inside the elevator which just had opened its doors with a bing.

Of course Peter would be the type of little minx to drop a bombshell like that and flounce off as if nothing happened.

"A moaner? Nah. I'm a fuckin' screamer," Wade disclosed with a chuckle after situating his ass on a decorative hand rail. "And I hope you plan on delivering on all of this hype you've been spouting. God knows you look good enough to eat. It had better not just be window dressing."

Peter's smirk would have suited a supervillain as he glanced up to Wade through his long lashes, his head tilted ever so slightly downwards to boost the effect even more.

"Oh, believe me," he cooed. "After this night you will never think of sex again the same way as before."

Wade merely grunted and let his head drop back to the elevator wall with a hollow thunk. Any more of Peter's coy courtesan bullshit and this tuxedo was going to be in shreds on the floor.

Luckily, the ding of the elevator went off before he could convince himself to say 'fuck the room' and tear out the wiring on the elevator's emergency access panel. With long, confident strides, Wade snatched Peter's hand and promptly dragged him down the hall to the left.

Even though Peter hated intimate contact and holding hands was already out of his comfort zone, he had to grin. He loved it when guys went absolutely mad through his teasing and Wade seemed to be extremely affected by this behavior. Good. That usually meant more money in the long term.

So he followed Deadpool all too willingly to the room with the number "418" on it and waited with a smug grin for his client to open it.

Wade tried the key card three times without success before finally spewing a string of expletives and taking a deep breath to calm his frayed nerves.

This kid was going to be the death of him.

The rasp of the deadbolt as it retracted made a sound reminiscent of racking a pistol slide and with equal finality. As soon as the door swung open, Deadpool stepped back and gave Peter a playful shove between the shoulder blades. "Get to stepping, jailbait," he sing-songed.

"Oof," the boy huffed as he stumbled over the threshold. Not that the shove had him lose his balance, he had known it would come. This special sense he had warned him of things like that. But he had learned to ignore it when there was no real danger in sight, so people wouldn't wonder about his strange reactions to things. "So you like it rough, huh?"

He stepped inside of the room fully, scanning it quickly before he strolled over to the bed.

"Is there any other way?" Deadpool gasped in mock surprise. He quickly kicked the door shut behind him and stalked across the room predaciously.

"That's good, I like it rough. Actually rough is the only thing I do. Which brings me to my rules. There aren't many, but cross them and I'm out immediately. First: I'm into anything hard, but I will not let anything make me bleed. Biting, scratching, do whatever you want, but one drop of blood and we're done. Second: No affection of any kind. I will not kiss, cuddle, hug, massage or stroke you. If you can't go without kissing, I have nothing against some biting and tongue-playing in the heat of the moment. But no smooching or any tender stuff like that. That's all. Otherwise I'm up for pretty much anything, bareback or covered, you name it."

He reached inside of his pocket and pulled out the bundle of money Wade had shoved in there. Giving it a quick count, he turned around to the merc, but not granting him a look.

"The money you gave me covers… I'm generous today, let's make it 2 hours. And no, I will not stay for the rest of the night, so don't even try it."

He stashed the notes back in his pocket and finally looked up, meeting Wade's gaze.

"Is everything understood? Or do you have any more questions before we let this hotel room have the night of its lifetime?"

Wade gaped openly at Peter, completely at a loss for words. That level of confidence spoke more for Peter's skill than all of his prior innuendo-laden boasting combined.

It took a moment for Wade's brain to reboot. The rerouting of circulation in a southern direction certainly wasn't helping matters.

"Yeah, I hear you loud and clear. But…well, you have me at a bit of an impasse. You sure as shit wouldn't survive my version of rough. So how about I let you take the lead and we'll go from there," he finally managed to stammer.

"Ah, that's what a few guys have claimed already and I survived it every time. I'm far tougher than I look, believe me. You can just go for it and _if_ it becomes too much, I will let you know. Don't worry about me. Seriously. I've never been the one running out of breath first. So if you really like it rough and you want me to go all the way, I should maybe warn you that I can get very, _very_ rough if asked for it."

The look he gave Wade was challenging, but he already was sure the other would back down. Peter had superhuman powers and superhuman stamina. He could take and do things most people wouldn't even dream of.

But while he appreciated the self-assurance, Deadpool wasn't buying it.

Peter may be a successful businessman and a consummate escort to boot, but there was no way in hell even a man in the prime of his youth could stand up to Wade's stamina. His healing factor was nothing to joke about, but Peter likely hadn't had too many mutate customers in his short tenure as call-boy hottie extraordinaire.

"Petey-pie, these guns aren't exactly for show," he said instead, flexing his biceps.

Peter sighed and approached his customer, grabbing his shirt with his hand.

"I hate pet names," he said. "So I would appreciate it if you wouldn't use any."

He let his gaze wander over Wade's mask, studying it for a moment.

"You cover yourself pretty well, so I assume you don't want to undress? Or is me taking off your suit something you would fully embrace?"

"That's a big honking check on my 'no-no' list, bro. I suspect you want to keep your lunch right where it is. Plus, this tux is way too fly not to fuck in," Wade said hurriedly, grabbing onto Peter's wrists and holding them just a bit too hard in his panic.

Peter sensed the grip was harder than would be normal, but it didn't bother him. Like he had said, he could take a whole lot. But he knew it meant that Wade was uncomfortable, so he answered to it.

"No worries," he said calmly, letting go of Wade's shirt. "I won't do anything you don't like. I'm here to please you after all, that's what you paid me for. So how about _I_ undress instead and you can then tell me what I can do for you, noble sir in a fancy suit."

"That…that sounds really good," Wade groaned, rubbing circles into Peter's wrists in mute apology. The soothing touch was brief. After all, the last thing he wanted was to ruin his only chance at intimacy in recent memory by breaking Peter's rules.

And what a chance it was. The kid was an Adonis, all sun-kissed skin and smooth lines. He was genuinely irresistible.

Wade rolled his hips forward and savored the friction between their bodies, causing a familiar heat to take up residence in his loins. "Uh oh, looks like somebody woke up Mr. Pool's naughty parts. I guess my self-control just can't hold a candle to a tough guy like you," he remarked teasingly.

Peter grinned and pushed his own hips forward to meet Wade's thrust and deliver even more friction.

"You have no idea what I'm capable of doing to your candle," he purred darkly.

The merc let out an obnoxious imitation of an ooga horn and picked Peter up by the waist. "Let's blow some minds," Wade stated huskily as he backed up towards the bed.

He sat heavily on the blessedly firm mattress, Peter's legs splayed on either side of his lap.

"Mmh, I'm really good at blowing," the young man teased as he placed his arms over Wade's shoulders. "Be it minds or candles, I don't mind."

He pushed his knees down against the mattress for support and began to rub his crotch against the other's lap. He had to admit that it was fun to exchange bad puns and innuendos with Deadpool. It wasn't often that someone could keep up with Peter's terrible humor, but Wade seemed to be just as bad as him, if not worse.

Wade grabbed his hips to still them.

"Shit. You keep that up and my torpedo is gonna explode before I even get a chance to sink your battleship," he groaned, sinking his forehead against Peter's shoulder. So much for boasting about his sexual prowess. It had just been so long since intimacy was anything more than a five minute date with a stuffed unicorn and a well-used 1994 Playboy magazine.

After a few deep breaths, he regained his composure and took the opportunity to explore the dips and swells of Peter's lithe body, gloves firmly in place. He slipped his thumb beneath the hem of Peter's shirt and traced the crest of his hip bones.

"Now, as fuckin' amazing as all of this is, there's one teensy problem."

"What? You're straight?" Peter joked.

He kept still now, waiting for Wade to do or say something. He didn't want to do anything that his client was uncomfortable with or didn't want yet.

Wade laughed uproariously. "No, you little shit! Believe me, as long as I have a face, you'll have a place to sit. The problem, though, is you are way overdressed for the occasion. 'Cause that body is bangin'. I mean seriously. Pilates? Yoga? What's your secret?"

Peter had to smirk. Yes, his body was really stunning, no question. It wasn't due to any sports though. If Wade only knew what had made Peter this fit and well-built… But nobody did know and nobody would ever know and so Peter did not intend to tell him.

"Sex," he replied instead, taking his arms off Wade's shoulders to shrug the indigo hoodie-jacket he was wearing off his body. "Plenty of rough, heavy sex. So make it good, so I will keep my muscles."

"You got it, kid. Let's start with some stripperobics," Wade replied, voice thick.

He watched the hoodie as it tumbled to the floor and reverently pulled Peter's shirt over his head to follow. Each deep score of muscle that Wade had felt earlier stood before him in stark relief. Even in the sallow, artificial light, Peter was breathtaking. Every inch of his skin was flawless and dusted with an occasional smattering of freckles, as if he were nothing more than an otherworldly image of perfection constructed in Wade's broken mind.

But, the warmth of Peter's body and the deep, even cadence of his breathing so close was a blunt reminder as to just how real this was about to be.

He couldn't quite believe his luck.

"Go ahead. You're allowed to touch it," Peter invited him with a crooked smile. "Or if you want to see the whole picture first, let me get up and remove my shoes and pants as well. I promise you, it will only get better."

"Touch 'it'? And what 'it' would we be referring to? 'Cause there are a lot of 'it's that I want to be touching right now," Wade replied, voice trembling imperceptibly.

With a smirk, Peter leaned in until his lips were right beside Wade's ear and then whispered a husky: "Everything."

Wade inhaled sharply and froze between Peter's thighs. Expectant silence hung between them, punctuated only by the staccato beat of his heart.

"Off," he growled, bursting into action and tearing at Peter's fly with trembling fingers.

The escort laughed, sliding off Wade's lap to stand right in front of him. He wore sneakers that weren't tied all too tight, so while Wade fumbled with his zipper, Peter managed to get out of his shoes by pressing the tip of his foot against the other foot's heel and pulling the limb out of the sneaker. His socks followed in quite the same manner. Good thing that Peter's toes were so flexible. And sticky, if needed.

While Peter kicked off his socks and shoes, Wade finally managed to unbutton his jeans. Almost breaking the zipper in his haste, he yanked them down the kid's hips . Only one thin layer of cotton remained between the merc and nirvana.

The boy stepped out of his pants with a smug smile and looked down at the man in front of him.

"You want me to get rid of them too?" he asked while he let his fingers slide down his own stomach, slipping the tips beneath the rim of his boxers. "Or do you want that joy for yourself?"

"Give me a minute here," Wade murmured as he pressed his brow against the soft line of hair trailing down from Peter's navel. After a brief moment, he slipped off of the mattress and knelt on the floor, eyes trained on the extra inch of revealed hip bone.

"Unwrapping your presents if half the fun," he said before pinching the hem of Peter's boxers between his masked lips and tugging downward.

Peter grinned as he looked down at the man with his boxers in his covered mouth. He had never seen someone being so utterly lost around him. This guy was so into Peter that it was almost sad.

"There you go," he hummed as his crotch got uncovered inch by inch. "Merry Christmas, you naughty boy."

He wasn't hard yet, but to be fair it took quite some effort to arouse him. A few words and some brief lap-riding didn't do the thing for him yet.

With a deft tug, Peter's boxers pooled around his ankles and Wade sat back to admire his handiwork. And merciful heavens, what a view. Peter stood above him tall and radiant in his confidence. His body was lithe and as graceful as a dancer's. What body hair he had was sparse, coalescing into a thin trail that meandered down his abdominals and directed Wade's gaze to where Peter's cock lay long and heavy between his thighs.

"Fuck," Wade stated simply. All of the bluster, all of his typical verboseness came to a screeching halt. "I…umm," he began hesitantly. "Can I?" He shook a loose fist beside his open mouth in the universal sign for sucking dick.

"Sure," Peter nodded. "My dick is yours to command, so go ahead. Quite literally."

The huge grin that Peter received in turn was evident even through Deadpool's mask.

"Could you do me a favor though and cover up those gorgeous peepers? There's nothing like a little sensory deprivation to open up the chimney flue," Wade stated with a chuckle.

With the angle that Peter was standing above him, there was little possibility of the kid catching sight of Wade's mottled skin. But he didn't want to take any chances.

"If that floats your boat," Peter shrugged.

Over time he had had people ask all kind of weird stuff of him, so being requested to close his eyes really was nothing odd. He probably would've done it anyway. He wasn't one to leave his eyes open when receiving head from someone.

So, as wished for, he let his eyelids flutter shut and raised his head a little to indicate that he was really not trying to get a peek at whatever Wade was attempting to hide from him so badly. Clients had their quirks sometimes. It was his job to just roll with it.

And how could Wade resist an invitation like that?

Long, red fingers stroked down Peter's stomach and dipped into the valley of muscle that swooped down to create a graceful line straight to his cock. His touch was delicate and measured at first, then grew more confident as he realized that Peter wasn't going to say 'stop.' His eyes flicked up to ascertain whether Peter had kept his word before the merc pulled his mask up over his nose.

With one hand, Wade palmed the firm swell of Peter's ass and directed the kid's velvety cock-head towards his open mouth with the other. Anticipation set his nerves alight and threatened to smother the man where he knelt.

But, before he could second-guess himself, Wade insistently pressed Peter closer still and devoured his flaccid cock completely.

Peter gasped. The hot, wet feeling of Wade's mouth around his member made him shudder softly. Quite a few people actually wanted to give blowjobs to Peter, but it was still rather rare compared to other practices and always felt a bit unreal to him. People paying him money to make him come instead of pursuing their own release was something he didn't fully understand.

That didn't mean though that he wasn't going to enjoy it. Unless Wade was really bad at blowjobs, but to be honest Peter was pretty sure it was rather the contrary.

Sighing lowly he let his shoulders drop and allowed himself to relax. If this was how his client wanted to spend his bought time, Peter would do his best to make it good. As he always did. So giving in completely was what he would be going for now.

Above him, Peter's gasps and sighs went unheard, overridden by the pounding in Wade's ears. The merc's palms began to sweat in his gloves and blood rapidly swirled down his body to cavort in his groin.

This was everything that he needed. The hot press of skin, the weight of a throbbing dick making his jaw ache. It wasn't supposed to, but it felt like belonging.

Wade lifted his tongue to press Peter's quickly swelling length into the roof of his mouth and angle the glans towards the back of his throat. Cheeks hollowed from the force of suction, he tightened his spit-slick lips around Peter's shaft and pressed forward until the kid's cock-head hit resistance in the wet heat of his throat. Suddenly, the minor resistance vanished and Wade's lips hit the trembling plane of Peter's groin.

A thin trail of spittle seeped down his chin and lingered in the ridges of scar tissue.

Peter had to moan in genuine surprise and pleasure. This man was _good!_ Really good. He hadn't even completely started yet and it was already most likely going to become the best blowjob Peter had ever received. Heat pooled into his lower regions at the feeling of his dick being pressed tightly against Wade's palate and being seated so deeply in the other's throat. His stomach contracted from anticipation.

"Oh my God…" he whispered.

Wade groaned in response to the broken little whisper and reflexively swallowed.

That in return made Peter moan again, louder this time. Jesus fuck! If the beginning was already this good, the end wouldn't be far away…

Wade blindly guided Peter's hands to rest on top of his head and in turn grasped the kid's hip with one hand to stabilize him. Operation 'give the gorgeous businessman the most powerful orgasm of his life' was a go.

Tentatively at first, he bobbed his head in a series of shallow little thrusts, punctuated by firm undulations of his tongue against the vein on the underside of Peter's shaft. The merc didn't even draw breath, instead taking pleasure in the soft texture of Peter's skin and the building pressure behind his eyes.

And oh, how genuine the gasps and moans were that he received as a reward. Peter was quite a good actor when it came to faking pleasure, but in this case it wasn't even necessary. Wade was _gifted!_

Peter made good use of the hands on Wade's head and clawed at the mask beneath his fingers. This night would pay out in more than just one way.

Spurred on by the telltale clench of Peter's fingers on his mask, Wade began to fellate him in earnest.

He pulled back until the chilled air wrapped around Peter's wet shaft, then sheathed him once more in the hot, humid press of his throat. Their rhythm slowly gained in intensity until each rough thrust began to rock Peter's hips against Wade's stabilizing grip.

Maybe he needed to curtail the enthusiasm, Wade thought to himself, bemused. It sure as shit would put a damper on the night if he broke the kid.

He pulled away, slow and smooth to lave attention to the head of Peter's dick with an alternating series of suckling and firm sweeps of his tongue.

His ignored erection throbbed sympathetically where it was trapped in the confines of his straining trousers. But his pain was inconsequential compared to Peter's pleasure. Even so, Wade took the opportunity to instinctively roll his hips just for the feel of a little hands-free friction.

He sunk back down on Peter's cock, timing each deep draw with the rhythm of his own pistoning hips. Every rough, sucking pull brought Peter one step closer to his mounting orgasm if the kid's moans were anything to go by.

Peter by now had forsaken all attempts to even only slightly still control himself and was meeting Wade's movements with eager thrusts of his hips. Each of them was accompanied by a throaty moan, groan, or gasp. Shit, he hadn't even known blowjobs could be that good. He might even learn some things from his client right here.

"I'm going to come…" he mumbled more to himself than to Wade, but then the next suck had him moan out loud again and he repeated: "I'm going to come!"

Wade smoothed a hand up Peter's trembling thighs and cupped his tightening scrotum, pulling down gently to stave off his release and let the building pressure rise.

The burning fire in Peter's loins had grown so hot that the rest of his body felt numb, pressure building up in his temples, his neck prickling in excitement. He would probably last a little bit longer, but he didn't know whether Wade wanted to swallow or even taste his fluids, so he better warn him now before it would be too late.

The stuttered warning was appreciated, but completely unnecessary. The bitter taste of precome danced on the merc's tongue, thick and perfect.

This was it.

With lightning fast reflexes, he gripped Peter's buttocks and pressed him forward almost violently, forcing the kid's dick into the clenching tightness of his throat.

That was enough to send Peter over the edge. With a loud, hoarse moan he bent over a bit and grabbed Wade's head tight to support himself as his knees threatened to give way.

His orgasm hit him with blinding force and knocked all the air out of his lungs as his muscles contracted heavily. Cursing and gasping for breath, he let his hips jerk forward with each wave of release, shooting his come deep down Wade's willingly offered throat. For a moment he thought he would actually collapse, but he managed to stay upright, even though his legs trembled. He couldn't remember ever having had an orgasm this breathtaking. Literally.

They both stayed still for a long moment, relearning how to breathe.

Wade couldn't help but grin around Peter's softening cock. There was no way in hell those weak knees and desperate, panting breaths were a show.

Maximum fuckin' effort for the win.

He leaned back, letting the escort's dick slide from his lips with a slurp and tugged his mask back firmly into place.

"Holy fuck. You've got one hell of a lung duster on you, Baby Boy," he rasped, praying that Peter didn't object to the accidental slip of a nickname.

But Peter was far too high still to say anything to that.

"Told you I'm more than I look like," he mumbled instead, letting his still shaky hands drop back to his sides. Dang it. _He_ should have paid for that blowjob, not the other way round.

"So don't even think you got me powered out already," he added, even though his glassy eyes and sweaty brow looked like they were telling a different story. "I'm still good to go. And I assume you need some attention yourself now, if I'm not completely mistaken."

Wade glanced down at where a seam had come loose on his tented pants front.

"Understatement of the century," he commented under his breath. Still kneeling, he popped the slide clasp of his trousers open and readjusted himself so that his cock rested along his stomach to alleviate the pressure.

"I'm not so sure you're ready to climb this corporate ladder, kid. You need a break first?" he teased as he rose from the floor and cracked his neck.

Peter snorted.

"The day someone fucks me into exhaustion is yet to come," he claimed, already sounding pretty much normal again. "You paid for 2 hours and you will get 2 hours. The only breaks included will be the ones you'll need yourself."

Grinning slyly, Wade shucked his jacket and vest as he made his way back to the hotel bed. The white, silk undershirt stayed staunchly in place, however, buttoned all the way.

"Sure, kid."

With a saucy wink he leapt back onto the mattress and tucked his hands behind his head to showcase the massive musculature of his arms and chest. Just to be an asshole, he pointedly lifted his hips where his still clothed cock stood tall and firm.

"If your legendary stamina is the holy fuckin' grail that you claim, let's say we get to pork swording the ham wallet," Wade said with a deep, baritone laugh.

Despite this metaphor being seriously off-putting, Peter kept a straight face and strode over to the bed.

"If you're indicating that you want me to ride you, I will have to ask you some questions before we start," he said. He crawled onto the bed as well, right on top of Wade and stayed hovering above him on all fours, his face mere inches away from the merc's.

"First: Do you want to prep me or do you want to watch me doing it myself? Normally I ask if my clients want me worked open already before we meet, but you know, I didn't get the chance before you literally bought my services off the street. So we will have to do that now."

All of Wade's mental faculties shut down one by one. For a moment, he had let himself forget that this was no more than a business transaction for Peter.

"You…" he began, but the crushing tidal force of reality brought him up short.

Regardless of how much Peter obviously enjoyed Wade's attentions, this wasn't a romanticized rendezvous of star-crossed lovers. Wade needed to remember that.

"Umm, yeah. I…I want to do it," he finally choked out.

Peter raised an eyebrow and ran one hand down Wade's chest to soothe him a little, whatever the sudden problem was. He didn't say anything to it though and instead leaned over to the edge of the bed.

"Then I better get the lube out of your pocket, huh?"

"That a euphemism?" Wade retorted, rallying admirably from his moment of introspection.

"For a change I meant that literally," Peter smirked.

He leaned out of the bed far enough to grab Wade's jacket and pull the bottle of lube out of the pocket. He was flexible and very well balanced, so the little stunt was no problem for him and he managed to even make it look really graceful.

Wade gaped openly at the smooth flex of Peter's body and idly wondered if Olympic-level sex gymnastics were a thing.

With the object of his desire in his hand, Peter pulled back until he hovered over Wade again and gently placed the bottle on top of the other man's chest.

"Now make my ass ready to swallow your big, thick cock," he purred, bringing his hips down a little to let his crotch brush over Wade's still trapped erection lightly.

Hissing in protest against the light touch, the merc grabbed Peter's hips and turned his coy tease into a filthy grind. "Turn around," he growled darkly, the threat of which was lost when he continued to hum the next few bars of Bonnie Tyler's greatest hit.

That made Peter laugh again. This guy was nuts. It was a delight.

He wiggled himself out of Wade's grip to obey and turned around, his small, round ass facing the older male now.

"He's gotta be strong and he's gotta be fast," he grinned, looking back over his shoulder. "Though better start a bit softer. I can take a whole lot, but even I need a starter before we get to the real meat for the main course."

Wade sat up slowly, letting the bottle of lube topple to the silver duvet.

"Did…did you just Bonnie Tyler me back?" he asked reverently. "Holy fuck, how much would it cost to marry you?"

The joke was in poor taste, but Wade didn't particularly care. Peter was absolutely perfect.

His eyes wandered downward to where the kid's pert buttocks rested on his trousers, and marveled at the contrasting colors.

Perfect.

"Ah, sorry, but marriage is not on my menu," Peter apologized. "I only sell the milk, not the cow. But I deliver whenever you feel like drinking something white and tasty."

Wade laughed and smacked Peter's ass sharply. "Get down there, you fuckin' tease," he ordered, pressing the man down so that his face hit the linens and his ass swayed in the air above Wade's aching crotch.

There was no way for Peter to crane his neck back pressed into the bed as he was. So Wade took the chance to slip off one glove and expose the scar riddled hand beneath. Leather and spandex didn't exactly make for the most comfortable of anal intrusions.

The sharp pop of the lube bottle opening felt like the firing of a cap gun. He impatiently poured a liberal amount into his hand and pushed it around the textured surface. He knew from repeated experience that those raised ribs of skin had a lot more surface area to coat.

Intent on his task, he leaned forward and spread Peter's buttocks wide. Everything about this kid was trim and well kept, his undercarriage being no exception.

Wade eagerly probed Peter's anus with one slick finger and gently swirled the excess lube around the tight, pink pucker.

The boy hummed lowly.

"I'm tight, but I work open fast," he informed Deadpool, closing his eyes because there was nothing to see right now anyway and also because it helped him relax. He usually noticed too much with his eyes open to blend it out.

"But if you enjoy fingering me, you can take all the time you want."

"Jesus. I would spend all night knuckle-deep in this tight ass if I could, but I'm damn near ready to explode already," Wade groaned.

He slowly eased in a single finger and sunk into the grasping heat of Peter's body. He could feel exactly when Peter finally melted into his touch, the moment punctuated by a breathy sigh.

Wade shifted slightly behind him and pushed in a second finger.

The kid was right. He stretched open like a dream, soft and pliant around Wade's admittedly thick fingers.

"You can fuck me any time now," Peter murmured after a while, pressing back against Wade's hand with soft, rocking motions. "I can take it…"

He was growing hard again and his spine began to prickle from the feeling of being penetrated. He surely wouldn't mind some more fingering, but he knew Wade really needed to get off and he knew his own body well enough to be certain he was ready for it.

Wade pulled out his fingers and wiped them absently on a pillowcase. Preparation could have been more thorough, sure, but it was at least adequate. He would trust Peter's judgment in this.

With dexterous motions, he managed to unzip his fly just enough to free his trapped erection and give it a liberal coating of lube. Task complete, Wade let go of his dick and allowed it to smack against his tensed abdominals forcibly enough to make a loud slap. While he may have been full of shit on his best days, Wade wasn't exaggerating about the extent of his sexual fortitude. Peter had no idea what he was in for.

"Ready to holster the meat gun?" he asked, voice husky with need.

"Shoot me," Peter replied.

Maybe he had no idea what was coming, but Wade in return had no idea how very well Peter could take it. But soon enough both of them would be smarter than before. And they would both be enjoying it very much.

Blood pounded in Deadpool's temples, reflected in the heavy pulsing of his straining cock.

Without reservation, he grasped Peter's waist between both hands, oblivious to the missing glove, and pulled the kid back to rest on his massive pectorals, lining him up.

This close, Wade took a moment to breathe deeply at the nape of his companion's neck and marvel in the rich, fruity smell of Peter's shampoo. With the scent of Peter in his nose and the taste of him lingering on his tongue, Wade gave into his need and pulled Peter down onto his dick with one hard thrust.

The escort moaned out loud. Wade's shaft was even bigger than his already large fingers and it spread him open even wider. It wasn't unpleasant though, quite the contrary.

He arched his back a little and placed both of his hands on Wade's lower arms. He wasn't quite sure whether Wade wanted to fuck him or expected Peter to ride him, so he kept still and waited for either orders or movements from the other. While he did that his breathing was short and shallow to not distract himself with his own breath.

He was completely dedicated to the moment and expectant of what would follow it.

Beneath him, Wade felt like he was going to shake apart from the intensity of it all. The tightness pressing in from all sides and absolutely _devouring_ his cock was too much. The first stirrings of orgasm were already building behind his eyes.

He had to take the edge off.

Without warning, he peeled his hands from where they were gripping Peter's hips hard enough to bruise and instead folded Peter's thighs to his chest. Peter gave a surprised sound at this, but didn't protest.

The merc used his weight advantage to collapse backwards to the bed, Peter's back lying fully on his chest and stomach, and began to pound out an absolutely punishing rhythm.

He dug in his heels and increased his pace despite the protesting squeal of the bed frame.

The harsh, powerful thrusts made Peter scream in both surprise and ecstasy. He had been prepared for something rough, but not _that_ rough! Wade hadn't been lying when he had warned him about his level of "going at it hard". But Peter hadn't been lying either. He could take this. He in fact enjoyed it even.

Gasping from the thrilling violence of Wade's motions, he grabbed the sheets on either side of the merc's body and held on tight to cope with the feeling that set every fibre of his body ablaze.

Equally as lost to the sensation, Wade's nerves were set alight with bolts of pleasure that shot straight into his groin in near painful pulses. Within half a dozen thrusts he was there, nearly sobbing his relief as the first waves of release finally crashed over him.

Hot ropes of come splashed against Peter's insides, punctuated by Wade's short, strangled shout.

The younger male moaned at the feeling and writhed a little. The fingering and hard pounding had aroused him again and now this made his body jumpy from the rising lust. He didn't want Wade to stop right there already. But he was here to make Wade happy, not himself, so he didn't say anything and just bit his lower lip to force himself to calm down a little.

"Fuuuuuck," Wade groaned. He laid there bonelessly, taking Peter's weight with ease.

"Don't worry, kid, I ain't no minute man. Just had to ease back the ol' doomsday clock," he finally purred into Peter's ear. Within seconds his flagging erection began to rapidly swell once more while still embedded it Peter's tight heat.

Peter had laughed at the joke, but now shuddered and moaned lowly in disbelief. What the… Not even he himself with his healing factor managed to be hard again _this_ fast! Did this man have special powers similar to Peter's? Maybe that explained his mask. If Peter could, he would hide away behind one as well.

But now was not the time to think about that. He owed Wade his full attention. And it was hard not to, given Wade was still seated inside of his ass with his generous girth.

"Alright then," he hummed back. "Show me what you got."

Wade grinned hugely. "Nah, that's my line. I want to watch you ride me, Baby Boy."

Peter grumbled lowly.

"Stop with the nicknames," he told Wade again and pushed his legs down that were still held up against his chest. Then he swung himself upright effortlessly, wiggling his hips a little to position them just right.

"You want me to go like this?" he asked over his shoulder. "Or you want me to turn around?"

"I could watch that sweet ass all day long, but yeah. Turn around. I wanna' see you fall apart," Wade sighed. Peter was an absolute dream.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but you won't see anything like that," Peter stated with a smirk.

He carefully turned himself around until he faced his client and braced himself on the other's chest. With his head cocked to the side, he smiled down at him in challenge.

"So, you sure you want me to give everything I have? Maybe we should establish a safe word for when it becomes too much for you," he mocked.

Wade took a moment to admire the man seated on his cock, rising up like a marble statue. He wanted so badly to run his fingers through that unruly mop of hair and absolutely devour the kid's slightly chapped lips.

Instead, he leaned up to grab the back of Peter's neck and pulled him down with one powerful motion until their noses touched.

"Hit me with your best shot. Pat Benatar, Crimes of Passion album, 1980," he whispered.

Peter grinned widely. Alright. This man had no idea what he would be getting into.

Despite his bent-over position, he began to roll his hips harshly. Flexibility was a blessing and he knew how to use it.

"Let me go so I can sit up," he whispered back. "Unless this is already enough for you."

Just to be a contrary asshole, the merc dug his heels in and bucked his hips with one powerful, unexpected thrust that made Peter's arms give. The kid collapsed against his chest and Wade couldn't help but burst out laughing .

Peter grunted instead.

"Oh, you wanna play it hard?" he growled. "I will ride you so hard then that you can't even move those damn hips of yours afterwards anymore."

Wade shoved him back upright and ran his palms up Peter's firm thighs. "Sounds nice," he responded fondly.

The young man only snorted. Then he supported himself against Wade's chest again and started to move at an inhuman speed. His hips smashed down on Wade's rapidly, harder than humanly possible. Peter used all his strength to slam himself downwards and he had lots of it. More than that though he had his speed, but he held that back a little just yet. He wanted to be able to go even harder later, just to mess with Wade as soon as the merc would think Peter had already shown him his full ability.

Still he moved incredibly quick already, staring down at Wade with a fierce look. He would bring this man to stop joking and would make him scream Peter's name instead.

The drag and pull of that slick slice of heaven on Wade's dick was nearly too much to bear. The speed and ferocity of Peter's gyrating was surely superhuman. Mutant? Mutate? Fuck it. He didn't have enough blood in his brain to care one way or the other.

Every rolling press of Peter's body coaxed Wade that much closer to the precipice. It took all of his effort to keep his eyes open and take in everything that was Peter.

The kid really was beautiful. Sweat meandered down his lightly toned chest and glittered in the low, fluorescent lighting like tumbling gemstones. It was also wetting his hair and making some locks stick to his temples and forehead, causing the mess on his head to look even more mussed. He was breathing heavily, sometimes gritting his teeth or biting his lower lip to subconsciously fuel the force of his hip-movements.

He was a fierce, sweaty piece of art.

The force and speed with which he moved Wade's cock in and out of himself of course didn't go without effect on him too. Pressure was building up in his loins, his own member was aching for attention, but there was no time to take care of that. Not until Wade was a moaning, gasping wreck beneath Peter and was knocking himself out with the intensity of his release.

Grabbing Wade's shirt tightly and pressing his knuckles against the man's chest, Peter began to roll his hips even faster than before, having to groan and grunt lowly from the effort. It wouldn't be Wade watching Peter falling apart. It would be the other way round or nothing.

Wade could do nothing but scrabble at Peter's waist and take it.

Thighs trembling, he threw his head back and moaned as if he were dying. Once more, orgasm dug its claws in deeply to his belly and swept through him unbidden. His fever hot seed seeped out between their joint bodies and soaked into the pressed wool of his slacks.

But he refused to stop, slapping Peter's ass and urging him onwards. The pain of friction on Wade's over-sensitized flesh abated quickly and blood rushed to fill the vacuum in his cock.

Peter groaned, but kept on going.

He had quite some stamina and he wouldn't stop yet, letting Wade have the triumph of wearing Peter out. He had promised him to fuck him as hard as he could, so he would do that. And so he kept pushing his hips up and smashing them back down harshly at immense speed, ignoring the burning in his back and thighs that had to work hard to keep this up. They would recover soon enough.

Making Wade lose it was Peter's first priority right now.

Wade's veins were singing with endorphins, but his mind cleared quickly after the brief moment of afterglow. Judging by the harsh, gasping breaths above him, Peter had to have been wearing down.

Nobody could possibly keep up that pace for very long.

The merc eased up onto his elbows and sat up fully, wrapping his arms around Peter's waist and forcibly bringing him back to a more sedate pace. The kid's neglected cock ground into the space between the silk of Wade's shirt and his own slick stomach.

"Hey, take a break. I've got you," he murmured against Peter's heaving chest.

The escort made a wheezing sound, but shivered from the sensation of his aching erection finally getting some attention. It sent a hot stinging through his entire spine and made his temples burn. He wanted more of it.

"I'm fine," he claimed, trying to rock his hips harder again, but was restrained by Wade's grip.

"I told you there won't be a break unless you need one and I mean it."

Wade rolled his eyes. "Well, would you look at that…cock titan and sex god extraordinaire, Captain Deadpool, is calling a timeout," he retorted with a sly grin. "You've conquered me with your legendary sexual prowess; I just can't go on any longer."

Peter scowled at him for a second. He knew Wade was just playing, trying to get Peter to take it slower. He wasn't stupid, after all. But Wade was his client. And when Wade asked him to slow down, he would do so.

"Alright…" he muttered, obviously unhappy, and stopped his movements, even though his cock basically screamed for him to keep on rubbing it against Wade's stomach. "Whatever you want…"

Holy fuck, that pout was adorable.

Without warning, Wade took advantage of Peter's laxity to upend him and flip him belly first onto the bed in a textbook grappling maneuver. All of that military training certainly came in handy for something, at least.

He quickly shoved Peter's knees apart and knelt between them, yanking the escort's hips back so that his ass swayed tantalizingly in the air. "Time in!" he called out teasingly before lining himself up with a loose fist and burying himself in Peter's heat once more.

Peter's extra sense warned him before the "attack" even happened. Yet he suppressed the urge to defend himself before his reflexes could kick in.

As Wade entered him once again, he moaned out loud. His hole was well used by now, slick from the two loads the merc had already shot into it, but it would take a lot more to overdo it. It could take some more.

"Dick move," Peter panted, grabbing the sheets tightly. "Literally."

No matter how exhausted or insulted he was, his humor wasn't lost yet. He could still make terrible puns, even when being fucked into oblivion.

"Not yet, it ain't," Deadpool retorted with a bark of laughter. He planted one arm just in front of Peter's shoulder to keep him in place and reached around his waist with the other to attend to Peter's weeping cock.

The kid's dick sat hot and heavy in his hand, pulsing with the rapid beat of his heart.

Peter took a loud, shaky inhale and then held his breath. His erection was _begging_ for this touch and he wanted Wade to pump it with his fist just as hard as he had pounded Peter's ass before. But he didn't say that. Instead he kept completely still, his body trembling from anticipation.

"Tell me how you like it, Peter," Wade ordered softly.

The other man hesitated. For a moment he pondered whether to tell Wade the truth or to tell him what he probably wanted to hear. But then he thought that Wade probably did want to hear the truth, so he sighed lowly and then said: "I want you to fuck me dizzy and jerk me off til I scream."

Wade's only response was a guttural groan.

He leaned to the side to fish around in the pillows and managed to locate the abandoned bottle of lube. Apparently he had forgotten to recap the stupid thing if the stained sheets were anything to go by. But, regardless, there was enough left to fill his palm sufficiently. Wade retook his position fully atop of Peter, making a firm fist and resting Peter's cockhead just at the entrance of his curled fingers.

"Yeah. Fuck. I can definitely do that," he answered finally.

Wade rolled his hips forward, simultaneously sheathing himself to the hilt and sending Peter's neglected erection bucking into the hot, tight tunnel of his hand.

A loud, hoarse moan was the response.

"Fuck, just like that…" Peter mumbled. "God, that feels so good…"

And even though he said that very often during work, this was one of the few occasions where he actually meant it.

Wade latched onto Peter's encouragement and began to move in earnest.

With brutal efficiency, he slammed into the pliant body beneath him hard enough to press Peter's face into the comforter. The squelching and wet slaps of their coupling were absolutely filthy in comparison to the oddly quiet hotel room. Well, quiet apart from Peter's moans and panting.

After some time, Wade's arms began to tremble from the overwhelming force of their shared need. The fire lancing through his stomach and quivering abdominals was as torturous as it was divine.

Peter was just in the same boat. It wasn't only the tight tunnel of Wade's fist that made his body grow hotter and hotter and the pressure in his lower regions harder and harder. It was also the incredible skill with which he managed to hit just the right spot inside of Peter with every harsh, forceful thrust. The tension that built up from this double pleasure felt as if his entire body would burst any second. He was reduced to throaty screams and moans, to sweating and trembling, to clawing at the sheets and letting himself be rocked back and forth in synch with Deadpool's movements. It was close to being too much for him, but only close. It still felt good.

Peter's vocalizations were enough to set Wade's salient thoughts into swirling chaos.

It was incredibly rare to meet someone who could match Wade's fortitude in the sack after his Weapon X transformation. Though, to be fair, the list of Deadpool's conquests of the sexy kind was pretty fucking short.

But even so, Peter was an absolute beast.

Realizing that the kid would never allow his own release until Wade had been satisfied, the merc bit down sharply just above Peter's scapula and let go of his restraint. He moaned his pleasure into the mouthful of mask and flesh and incrementally tightened his grip on Peter's cock.

As the first hot pulses of his come filled the clenching tunnel of Peter's body, the merc swept his scarred thumb over Peter's slit, gathering up the dribble of precome there and adding it to the lubricant against his palm.

"Come for me, Baby Boy," he mumbled into Peter's skin. "Come now."

Peter wanted to call Wade out for the nickname again, but it was completely impossible.

The hot tension inside of him finally exploded and he shot his seed all over Wade's fist and the mattress beneath him. His body convulsed heavily from the intensity, all of his muscles finally letting go of the pressure.

A loud scream accompanied Peter's release and he actually tore a hole into the bedsheets. As soon as his spasms were over, his body went limb and began to tremble from exhaustion. Finally someone had managed to fuck Peter to his limit.

Wade braced both arms against the mattress so as not to crush Peter with his massive bulk and took in great, heaving breaths.

As the haze of orgasm slowly faded, he glanced down at the fucked-out man beneath him. Peter was absolutely breathtaking with his flushed cheeks and the unruly mop of hair that was so far beyond 'mussed' that the description for it had yet to be invented.

"How did I get so fucking lucky?" he managed to gasp.

Only then did Wade realize that he had been so caught up in the throes of passion that he had forgotten to put his glove back on after preparing Peter.

Whining like a wounded animal, he snatched his hand back from in front of Peter's face and quickly pulled out of him with a wet pop.

Deadpool's silly, ostentatious clothing was glued to his skin with a sudden nervous sweat. It would be a cold day in hell when Peter would ever give him the time of day again after having seen _that._

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," he hissed as he quickly tucked his spent cock back into his pants and frantically hunted for his missing glove.

"What is it?" Peter asked, letting himself flop down onto the bed. Had he know what Wade's problem was, he would have laughed. As if he hadn't felt how rugged the skin of the hand pumping his dick only seconds ago had been. But actually that had been a great addition to the already overwhelming sensation. The texture of Wade's skin had made the handjob even better.

The merc gave up trying to find the slip of leather among the unruly linens and pillows. Instead, he folded his knees beneath him and shoved his bare hand in the tight press of his massive quads. "Shit, sorry you had to see that. I just…you with all those curves and me with no brakes," he stuttered in apology, refusing to make eye contact.

"I don't know what you mean," Peter replied. Which was a lie. Of course he knew what Wade meant. Apparently he had some issues with his skin and wanted to hide it away. That was probably why he was wearing the mask and had refused to take off his clothes. And had asked Peter to close his eyes during the blowjob. So maybe he really was a mutant or something after all. Sometimes they did look different than the majority of people.

But the truth was that Peter didn't care. He was curious, sure. But he didn't want to get invested in Wade's private life. In his fears, problems and sorrows. That was far too intimate. He only was a client. And Peter made sure to keep his clients on a safe distance.

Peter's lack of acknowledgement was perplexing to say the least.

Confused, Deadpool glanced up and stared at his escort's decidedly unimpressed expression. "Uhh…sure," he responded, playing along.

There was a flash of red next to Peter's thigh as he shifted, which Wade quickly retrieved under the pretense of laying down beside him. He covertly re-donned the glove.

"Sooooo…does Benjamin and his four friends cover post coital cuddles?" he asked with a raised brow.

Peter sighed and rubbed his forehead with the side of his hand.

"No. I told you I don't do affectionate stuff. That was part of the rules. You're lucky already that I'm still here, after you basically bombarded me with nicknames even though I told you I don't like that."

"What if I sweeten the pot with a reward card for a free Fro-yo treat?" Wade drawled.

But sadly Peter didn't seem to be interested in glorious free food.

"I said no," he repeated, sounding slightly pissed. He hated it when people tried to ask for stuff he had told them was not going to happen.

"Okay, okay, geez Louise! I was just playin,'" Wade muttered, collapsing back to the bed. "So, how does this work? Do I wander the streets in a catatonic haze combing each and every light post for another chance peek of the glory that is your ass? Or, can I get yo digits?"

"My number is on the flyer I gave you, if you still have it," the boy answered. "But I can also just give it to you if you want. But I will tell you in advance that it doesn't matter how often you hire me or how much you pay me. My rules stay the same."

Wade moaned dramatically and turned away from Peter. "Well, there goes my 'Pretty Lady' fantasy. How could you be so cruel?" His shoulders shook with quiet laughter.

Peter began to become annoyed by the man beside him. Not because of his stupid jokes, but because of the way he treated Peter's rules. He was outright ignoring them, at least the nickname one, and tried to get Peter to abrogate the others. And he made fun of them.

But Peter didn't find that funny at all. His rules were there for a reason. And this reason was nothing to laugh about.

"The movie is called "Pretty Woman"," he corrected Wade as he sat up. "And I am not Julia Roberts. But not even for Richard Gere I would change my rules. If you have that fantasy, go out there and search for another escort. I'm sure there's plenty of my colleagues who don't mind being cuddled."

"Sweet fucking fluffy biscuit shits," Wade exclaimed, waving his hands frantically and sitting up quickly enough to make his head spin. "I'll stop, I'll stop. I just have this condition you see. Whenever I wear fancy tuxes I'm imbued with the magical ability of acting like a royal asshole."

"Then how about you don't wear one next time," Peter suggested, his expression showing slight anger.

"You got it! Seriously, Peter. I've got nothing but respect for you, your profession, and your ridiculously fluffy hair. I'll behave. I didn't actually mean any of the nickname shit," Wade exclaimed.

"Ah, thanks. Your approval is all I've ever needed in life. Without it I would have changed my job and my haircut immediately."

It probably wasn't smart to get outright pissed at a client who had already announced to consult him again, but Peter had his pride. That maybe was a bit too big for his own good sometimes. He'd rather lose Wade as a client than to ignore his annoying behavior just to get more money. Smart or not, he could very well live with that.

That anger was entirely evident in Peter's voice. To Wade it sounded like 'goodbye.'

"Ouch," he replied simply. Sure, he was used to fucking up all of the good things in his life, but this was probably a land speed record. He collapsed back onto the bed and stared at the slowly revolving ceiling fan. "Well, thanks anyways, kid. My money case is in my jacket. Take whatever you need for cab fare. Shit, take the whole thing."

"I don't need money to make up for your sorry behavior," Peter huffed. "And I can pay for my own cab ride. You paid me for my services and that's all the money I'll have from you. That's how my job works."

He scooted over to the edge of the bed and got up. His shaky knees had already recovered, but he still felt a bit weak.

"I will use the shower before I leave," he stated, already on his way over to the bathroom. "See if you can find that flyer while I'm in there. If not, I'll give you my number when I come back. Though you better make sure you remember my rules before you give me a call and to burn all your tuxedos."

With that he closed the door behind him a bit louder than necessary and cut off any potential reply from Wade.

"Wait, what did he say?" Deadpool asked the popcorn stucco ceiling, confused. Did Peter just give him a second chance?

Wade loosened his bow tie and reached beneath his mask to pull out the folded flyer that he had reverently placed there for safe-keeping. The escort's number stood out in stark relief against the flowing red text.

With a burgeoning smile, Wade tucked the flyer back into his mask and made to retrieve his discarded vest and jacket from the floor. Dried come and lubricant stretched and popped against his skin as he walked, but it was only a minor discomfort in the face of his quickly brightening mood.

Peter had given him a second chance.

He quickly folded Peter's clothing and placed it on the bed along with a hastily scribbled note.

With that, he left the suite and quietly eased the door shut behind him.

* * *

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Peter pulled the door of his tiny 115 square feet apartment shut with his foot while simultaneously switching the light on with his elbow. He then set the bag of groceries on the table, right beside his laptop.

He hadn't bought much, since he wasn't even in possession of a kitchen. A microwave, a mini fridge and an electric kettle was all the equipment he owned for making something to eat.

This resulted in him either living from instant food or microwave meals or buying something from a take-away when he was out. He never ordered any food to his place. The fewer people knew where he lived, the better.

Maybe he could have afforded a bigger flat with more room than just enough to house a bed, a desk, the mini-fridge and a chair, and a bathroom so tiny that he could touch all four walls when he was standing in the middle of it. But it was cheap and he wanted to save as much money as he could.

One day he wanted to leave New York and go somewhere safe. Maybe study something. Get another job. He was really good at science and he was sure he could do something with it.

But college probably was not an option for him, as he hadn't finished high school before he had had to hide away and try to erase his identity. Who knew, maybe he could still work on something really awesome, even create his own invention. He could still hope, at least.

Sighing, he ruffled his hair and grabbed his laptop, tucking it under his arm. With his free hand he fished a pack of Twizzlers out of his shopping bag and carried both of the items over to the bed where he let himself fall onto the mattress.

He stuffed his pillow behind his back to lean against it, placed his computer on his lap, and opened it. He tore the package of Twizzlers open while he waited for the gadget to boot.

Regular people would probably check their emails now or log into facebook, but Peter had neither of those. He kept off any social network or other site that required a log-in and he had made sure that his IP-adress wasn't trackable. It came in handy to be a nerd when you wanted to stay out of reach.

Instead, he opened a news-site and skim-read it while starting to gnaw at the first Twizzler. As usual one half of the articles were about death and destruction whereas the other half was completely random information about the private life of rich people, sports or cute animals doing useless stuff.

He only read three articles thoroughly before he closed the page and grabbed another Twizzler. Then he checked his own website to see if everything was as it should be and whether he had some new evaluations.

There were two. One was a short but positive feedback from a guy he assumed to be the same man he had been hired by four days ago. The other was a rude comment on how he was a cheap slut and deserved to die. Huffing, he closed the page and opened youtube instead.

He put on some Imagine Dragons and shoved the laptop off his legs to swing out of bed. Still chewing on the candy, he filled his electric kettle with water and switched it on. Then he grabbed an envelope that lay on his desk and flopped back onto the bed.

It contained the newest photos he had made with his analog camera. He had picked them up from the store yesterday but had had no chance yet to have a better look at them. Wiping his fingers clean on his jeans, he pulled the prints out of the paper and started to look through them.

Photography had been a hobby of his ever since his uncle had gifted him a camera for his eighth birthday. He had never switched to a digital camera, even though nowadays it was hard to even still find films for his analog one. But its photos were just far more beautiful.

His Yashica Electro 35 GSN was his most valued possession and he treasured it like it was his own child. Every now and then, when he had nothing else to do and the heavy weight of his life came down on him hard, he grabbed the little brown box and went for a walk. Searching for the best views to capture made you look at things differently. It helped his troubled mind to clear and his overly receptive senses to focus.

Sometimes he would even use his sticky hands and feet to climb up buildings and take pictures from angles no normal human could even reach. He felt at peace with himself then, only he and the camera, only he and the single beautiful moment in which he pressed the release. And when he looked at the photos again, he was brought back to this instant and forgot that his life was nothing like the moment he had captured there.

One of the photos was especially good. He had shot it in the very early morning, when fog had still covered the streets and the light of the lanterns had made it shine, like dancing and swirling yellow ghosts. The street had been wet with glittering puddles, the sky still dark because the sun had not been up yet. It was tranquil and soothing. Peter liked it.

He decided it was worth going up on the wall beside his bed, so he snatched his tape and attached it among the other photos that were already hanging there. Different corners and places of New York were gathered there, each of them a memento to a long dead moment in time that Peter had captured forever and banned on photobase paper.

Examining his work for a moment, he took another bite from his Twizzlers and went back to looking at the other photos. The ones he did not put up on the wall would go into a box and be stashed under the bed. Maybe one day he would try to sell them somewhere. Or maybe he wouldn't.

The kettle beeped, telling Peter the water was boiling, and he got up once more to pour it into his only mug and add some instant cocoa that he then stirred in. He had never really been one for coffee and why people liked tea was still a mystery to him. He was a sugar-junkie and not ashamed to live it out.

As he climbed back onto his bed, he placed the mug on the narrow board between the bed-frame and the wall and then pulled his computer back on his lap. It was time to collect some green gems while trying not to die from angry robots or flying straight into those goddamn ninja stars. Swallowing the last bite of candy, he opened his DOS simulator and started Jetpack.

Only half an hour later, Peter was a cursing ball of rage and aggression and insulted the man-shaped pixels on his screen that had just failed once again because of a murderous bat. This game was unfair. There was no way he would start back at level 20 and work his way up to 27 again, only to face defeat once more. Maybe Super Mario was nicer to him than this blond fucker with his ridiculous goggles right there.

He was just about to start the new game when his phone in his pocket vibrated. Peter snagged it out and looked at the screen. It was a text message. Normally only his regular customers sent him those, the ones he already knew well enough and who knew him well enough to set things up with a few written words.

Assuming it was an offer for his next job, he opened the message to read it.

A pixelated picture of a rooster stared back at him. There was no clarification, just a solitary picture of an unnecessarily censored chicken. Beneath it rested skull and poop emojis, followed by an 'L' in flowing pink script.

Peter stared at it, completely puzzled.

"What the heck…" he mumbled.

Alright, the censored rooster was to mean "cock", that much he got. But what was this grinning shit and his dead friend beneath it? And what had they got to do with a dick?

"Skull Shit L…? What in the world?"

He put his phone aside and opened Bing to search for "Skull Shit L". Maybe that was an euphemism he hadn't heard of yet.

What he got were some shirts with a skull on it. He tried again with "Skull Poop L" but that didn't really give him anything either.

Giving an annoyed sigh and a shrug, he decided to ignore the weird message and closed his browser to go back to Super Mario. This wasn't the first time he got an odd message from someone. Putting your phone number up in half of New York sadly led to a lot of weirdos feeling the need to send you dick pics, threats, insults or sometimes just random stuff like this.

 ** _Meatpacking District, New York_**

Huffing in irritation, Deadpool scrubbed the blood from his phone screen and flicked off the asshole that had shot him.

"Rude much?" he called out over his shoulder. Another round of semi-automatic fire pattered against his back, retort echoing among the I-beams of the old warehouse.

Wade glanced down at the flayed exit wounds in his chest and then at where his phone had been completely doused in thick arterial spray. Great, just fucking great. Some people just couldn't understand common courtesy.

He casually jumped down from the stack of crates that he had been sitting on and managed to hit 'send.' The cock picture was genius, Peter would love it.

"Alright you come-crusted douche nozzles, let's get this over with so Daddy Pool can get his mack on," he yelled, voice carrying down the cramped network of crates.

As if on cue, a wave of armed cartel enforcers swarmed the room. Deadpool went through the familiar motions of cutting them down one by one, constantly checking his phone in the process. The slip of technology taunted him with its silence.

Did Peter not get the text? Was the picture of the rooster too generic? He should probably send something a bit more obvious to pique the kid's interest…maybe a picture of Ryan Reynolds' bathing suit area or something.

Out of nowhere, a muscular thug leapt around the crates and smacked the phone right out of Wade's hand, mistakenly assuming it was a weapon.

It was so fucking on.

Deadpool unsheathed a katana and sliced the offending limb clean off, catching the severed arm before it hit the ground. Without pause, he whipped around and slapped his assailant across the face with it.

"What…about…me…talking…to…a…cute…boy…do…you…jackholes…not…fucking…get?" he hollered, punctuating each word with a slap. Cartoonishly slow, the man finally slumped to the ground under the force of Wade's romantic sensibilities.

"Jesus tap-dancing Christ, what is wrong with people nowadays? No manners, I swear," he muttered, tossing the arm away and picking his phone back up from where it had fallen to the floor. Thank goodness he had the forethought to buy a case this time.

Still no response from Peter.

"Alright, I get it. Gotta go big to get a rise outta my Baby Boy, if ya know what I mean," Wade thought aloud, sighing at the memory of last night.

A handful of hostages sat huddling in the corner of the room, staring at the carnage in horror. "Come on, people, I don't have all fucking day," Wade moaned as he dramatically motioned his arms toward the exit sign. The hostages stumbled past him, giving as wide of a berth as possible, and Wade returned to tapping away at his screen. But, opportunity coincidentally presented itself as one of the harried captives accidentally stumbled against the merc in her haste.

"Hey, hey, hold up sweetcheeks! Can I borrow that for like five seconds?" he asked excitedly, gesturing at the woman's necklace. She hesitantly pulled it off and handed it over to the blood-encrusted, walking armory, fleeing as soon as he turned his back to her.

Wade beamed and wrapped the string of pearls around one fist, making a thumbs up and taking a picture with his phone. "Oh em gee, thank you so much! This is going to be so great. You see, there's this guy that's really into me," he rambled on, intent on typing out his message. "I mean, I pissed him off pretty bad last time we met. But I also fucked his brains out and let him have the complimentary breakfast, so we're probably even. Seriously, they have make-your-own–waffles at that place. Anyhoo, we totally had a moment, and I'm pretty sure that we're in love."

Deadpool turned back around after finally pressing 'send' and canted his head curiously. "Where the fuck did she go?" he asked the empty corridor.

With a casual shrug, Wade tossed a grenade over his shoulder and continued to stare at his ominously blank phone screen as he strolled out of the warehouse, flames licking at his boots.

 ** _Queens, New York_**

Super Mario almost got killed by a ghost when Peter got distracted by his phone vibrating again. Grumbling, he hit PAUSE and snatched the interupting little shit off of the sheets where he had thrown it.

The screen lit up once more as he unlocked it and opened the new message.

There was a lone line of text reading "I think about you when I masturbate…" followed by a picture of a pearl necklace draped suggestively around a familiar, red-gloved hand. The message was signed once more with the ridiculous skull and poop emojis and a letter L.

It took Peter a second to make the connection. Then he groaned in total annoyance.

"He's gotta be _kidding_ me," he whined and sank on his side so he could hide his face in the blanket, his laptop falling down onto the bed. "Why the hell did I give him my number…"

Also what the SHIT. He had just seen this man LAST NIGHT. How could he have been masturbating to him already. No, wait, Peter didn't want to know.

He thought back to what had happened back in the hotel room, after he had closed the door of the bathroom.

He had taken a very hot and very long shower, cleaning all of Deadpool's and his own release and other remains off his body and letting his muscles relax under the comforting water. When he had come back, hair still damp and sticking out in all directions from rubbing the towel over it, Wade had already been gone.

Instead, Peter had found his own clothes neatly folded on the bed, which had enraged him, to be honest. Those were his. And he didn't need anyone to pick them up and fold them for him, as if he needed taking care of. The last person to have done this had been his aunt, and the thought of her had made his stomach burn and his eyes sting with hot tears. All the anger at his client that he had just washed down the shower drain had come back with brutal force.

When he had found the scribble on top of his stuff, it had just been the dot on the i. He had torn it and thrown it out of the window, before grabbing his pants to get dressed again. But then he had realized that Wade had paid for this room already and that it came with free breakfast. With Wade gone, he could just as well stay here and profit from this idiot's willingness to pay for all of this and then leave.

So he had shoved his folded clothes off the bed, making sure they landed on the floor in a mess, and had thrown the dirty bedcover and the pillows in the corner. Switching off the lights, he had curled up beneath the covers, his arms slung around himself for comfort and had tried to fall asleep.

In his flat, Peter raised his head from his bed and stared down at the phone once more.

This man was overdoing it. Now he was even texting him tasteless pictures in the middle of the day. Who did he even think he was?

Peter felt the urge to send something offending back, to make it clear that he was still angry and didn't find any of this funny. Maybe a chopped banana, or something like: "That's $100 per jerk-off."

But no. Not writing back would punish this weirdo more. He didn't deserve an answer to this. Peter was not his boyfriend. He didn't have to reply to bad texts. If Wade wanted to hire him again, he should say so.

Putting his phone down once more, he sat up again and dragged his computer back onto his lap. Maybe he should just switch off his phone completely. One more of these messages and he would probably snap.

He closed Super Mario and opened a shooter game. He needed to let off some steam right now.

 ** _Meatpacking district, New York_**

Alright, seriously, what gave? It had been two hours and Peter still hadn't responded.

Wade was starting to get jittery. He tapped the matte finish slide of his Beretta PX-4 against his mark's forehead and began to pace. Maybe Mr. Least-Interesting-Man-in-the-World over there had some sage advice.

"So, okay, there's this guy that I'm really into. Well…I was last night, at least. Really, really into," he began, finally coming to a standstill and bending over to secure the cinderblocks on the bound cartel member's feet. Deadpool shifted back and placed a hand on the man's thigh in order to lean in close and whisper in his ear. "Like, balls deep."

The man cringed away and violently pulled at the zipties on his wrists, swinging his head around to shake the dirty, cloth gag from his mouth. Annoyed, Wade stood up and smacked him across the back of the head.

"What the shit? Are you even listening?" he asked with an affected pout, arms akimbo.

People were really being selfish dickholes today. With an exalted cry, the mark was finally able to spit out his gag. Though, the nauseating taste of tacos and gun oil lingered on his tongue.

"Would you just shoot me already, cocksucker? Jesus," the man exclaimed breathlessly. He started up a rhythm of rocking that slowly inched his chair closer to the side of the wharf with the godawful screech of metal on concrete. "I'd rather sleep with the fuckin' fishes than listen to your disgusting bullshit for another goddamn second."

To be fair, Deadpool had been regaling him with his various sexual exploits in graphic detail for the past forty-five minutes.

Wade just rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone. Still nothing.

Worrying his lower lip between his teeth, he scrolled to Peter's contact image, himself in a nun's habit, and pressed 'call.'

 ** _Queens, New York_**

Peter looked up from his physics book as his phone rang. Not a text message this time. An incoming call.

He grabbed it and looked at the screen. Unknown number. Well, he had a good guess on who it was.

Sighing, he waited for just a bit longer to make Wade wonder whether he would even pick up. Then he answered the call and pressed the phone against his ear.

"I'm not doing phone sex or sexting, so forget it right away," he greeted the man on the other end of the line and rolled over to lie half on his side and half on his back. The package of Cheerios standing on his little shelf above the desk reminded him that he had forgotten to buy new ones. Dang it. He would do that tomorrow.

"You know, most people just say 'hi,'" Wade's voice stated cheerily.

"Most people are not being called by you," Peter replied.

On the docks, Wade gasped and placed a hand over his heart dramatically. "Ouch, words hurt, Peter. And here I am, selflessly offering to pay your tight ass' way through law school. For shame!"

"So far you just sent me really disturbing text messages and told me how to greet someone on the phone," the young man corrected.

He was already getting annoyed again. But maybe that was because he was already on a bitchy basic setting against Wade at the moment.

"Aww, don't be that way. I picked up a couple of jobs today just for you. Daddy Pool is gonna make it raaaain," the merc cooed, voice husky. He left unsaid that his coffers were essentially bottomless at the moment, jobs or no.

"So I take it you wanna hire me again," Peter concluded.

His voice sounded as unimpressed as he felt, but at least he managed to not come off as completely pissed or denying. Making it rain, huh. Maybe he could take some revenge on Wade in his own way if this man was so into him.

"Do bears shit in the woods?" Wade asked rhetorically. In the background there was a muffled pop followed by a loud splash.

Peter rolled his eyes.

"Bears don't have to pay for that, though."

Wade grunted contemplatively as he unscrewed his suppressor and slipped it back into his tactical belt. "Huh, you got me there. Anyhoo, you got some time for your favorite costumed sugar daddy?"

The escort sighed silently. This guy needed a good kick in the balls.

"When? Right now?" he asked, closing the book that lay beside his head. Even if Wade said no he wouldn't feel like reading anymore after this.

Wade glanced down at the swaths of blood and dirt splattered across his chest and ran his palm soothingly over the ragged tears. As much as his costume wasn't the only thing in need of some heavy petting, it would be rude not to freshen up a bit first. "Well, as lovely as that would be, this gown just isn't fancy enough to attend the ball, princess. You still gonna be open for business in a couple of hours?" He grinned at his own innuendo and watched a trailing stream of bubbles float away on the Hudson.

"Happens to be so, yeah. Unless you attempt to put on a tux again, then I'm out," Peter replied. He rolled onto his stomach and threw his lower legs in the air, crossing his ankles. "Where and when should we meet? Or do you wanna give me another call as soon as you're available?"

"Ha, no formal wear. Got it. Hey, how about we meet up at Coney Island and you can escort my happy ass around the fair? There's nothing quite like puking in your mask on the Ferris wheel to really get the motor revving," Wade responded excitedly, fiddling with the settings on his watch.

Peter felt his stomach tighten up into a knot and a chill running down his spine. He gritted his teeth and grabbed the phone tighter.

"Okay, listen here, you giant jerk," he hissed. "I've really tried to keep it down, but you are making me lose my goddamn shit. I've told you more than once that there will be no cuddling, no nick names, no boyfriend behavior. And no freaking dates. I will not go anywhere with you, unless it's to get fucked. Do you get that? I take money for sex. And nothing else. You can't buy my love, friendship, affection or even my fake sympathy. One more try to get any of this nontheless, just one more slip of a nick name, one more tiny HINT that you hope for anything beyond sexual contact, and I will block your number for good. Is that finally understood or do I have to let my foot dictate it to your sorry nuts?"

Wade stopped in his tracks, frozen by the sheer vitriol in Peter's voice. "But…you're an escort, right? Or did I entirely misread the flyer?" There was no way he was mistaken; he had memorized every loop and whorl of writing on there.

"I am. For sex," Peter growled. "I told you that I don't do dating, when you asked me to go to dinner with you. Don't act as if you don't know that anymore. If you want company for a fun park, go pay someone else."

"But that's false advertising," Deadpool whined.

"It is not. "Escort" is a vast term. And to be honest I only used it because it's not illegal, while prostitution is. I will only get hired for stuff I want to do, and that excludes anything boyfriend-ish. Get that in your head. Now do you want to hire me for sex or not? Because if not, we can end this call now and I can get back to doing other stuff than hearing you complain about my business choices."

Face-palming, Wade leaned against the brick façade of a nearby building and sighed heavily. He needed to come at this another way. The kid was way too defensive; if there was any chance of him and Peter riding off into the sunset together he was going to need to be more delicate in his coaxing.

Fine.

"Whoa, apply the brakes, Romeo. I think we should start over. Hi, my name is Deadpool, Mr. Wilson if you're nasty. I've got a hefty all-meat patty, loaded with all of the fixings, and a healing factor that'll fill you up so many times it'll make you come hot sauce. Something, something, using lettuce as an allusion to the fact that I'm loaded. I think the metaphors kind of ran away with me there for a minute, but whatever," he droned on, obviously lost to his own thoughts.

Peter gritted his teeth again and remained silent for a moment. Then he forced himself to close his eyes and take a few deep, controlled breaths.

Come on, Peter. This man is trying. He might be a jerk, but maybe he really didn't know better. Give him a chance. You can still blow him off later if he continues to be a dipshit.

"Alright," he finally said, calmer this time. "Fine. I will tell you what the deal is once and for all, okay? I am an escort, but I only do sex. I do not do dates, dinners, companionship, playing the boyfriend or whatever else. That's just not my thing. I am sorry if that is what you wanted. Maybe I'm just not the right guy for you to hire."

"Oh fuck, no, you're definitely the right guy. Okay, um, no tux, no pet names, no gentle caresses through your fantastic, fluffy hair, and absolutely no, under any circumstances, no boomboxing beneath your window. Got it," Wade confirmed, lifting a finger for each list item.

He absently shoved his phone between his face and shoulder as he turned to scale the wall, swinging between tie rods until he managed to pull himself onto the warehouse roof. "So, you, me, and a whole lotta money at the same place in," he paused, glancing at his hello kitty watch, "an hour and a half. Sound good?"

"You can wear a tux, as long as you don't turn on your asshole-powers again," Peter clarified. "But yeah, sounds good. Should I bring anything special? Some toys? Special clothing? I'll have lube with me this time. I assume we don't need condoms again."

"Nah, just your beautiful, au naturale self is fine with me. And you don't have to get jimmy hats; you won't catch anything from me. Plus, I really like the way you feel," Wade murmured, almost discomfited by the sincerity of his own words.

On the other end of the line, that made the corners of Peter's mouth curl up a little. It never hurt to hear that your clients appreciated you. And maybe it fed his self-confidence a little to have someone tell him that he felt great.

"Good," he nodded. "Then only me and the lube it is. You won't catch anything from me either, by the way. But I guess your healing factor makes that impossible anyway." Just as it did for Peter himself. Which was why he even offered bareback at all.

"Should I work myself open already or do you enjoy doing that?" he asked.

Part of Wade champed at the bit for another moment of such vivid intimacy. Another moment where it was just Peter unintentionally allowing Wade to treat him like a lover and rewarding his affectionate touches with those cute, breathy little moans. But the fear of exposure continued to sit heavily in the pit of his stomach. By the grace of whatever higher powers deigned to smile upon Deadpool last night, Peter hadn't seen his disgusting hand.

It had been a close call, though.

"No, um, I want to do it," he responded, uncharacteristically serious.

"Okay. Where should we meet? The hotel again? I don't do house calls, by the way, so your flat is not an option. And neither is mine. If you have a car or something though and want to save on the costs, I have no problem with that."

Wade snorted. "That's cute, you think I live in a flat."

He leapt between two buildings and idly watched the cars pass beneath him. "Ba-" he began, managing to catch himself in time before the pet name slipped out fully. "Peter, you just worry about hiding the burrito and I'll cover the rest."

The teen just ignored the comment about the flat and instead smirked to himself. Oh, how he liked generous clients who came up for fancy locations.

"Okay, then. Me, you, the lube, at the Ramada in 90 minutes. Though I'll tell you in advance that I'm gonna charge the full price today. Yesterday was just a special offer. Because it was Christmas."

Wade flipped over a rooftop air-conditioning unit and sent a frightened flock of doves scattering in a burst of feathers. "Every day is Christmas when I'm balls deep in your hot cocoa," he simpered into the phone.

This time Peter even had to grin.

"Well, for me Christmas is only once a year. So full price. That's how good businessmen pull you in, you know? Tease you with special offers and then raise the costs til you're broke. But I'll make sure that every penny you spend on my cocoa is worth it, you little horny marshmallow."

"Raise the cost? Well shit, I guess it's understandable that you have to adjust your prices based on the rate of inflation," Deadpool retorted with a chuckle. "My name is Wade, by the way. Wade Wilson. But you can call me 'Stay Puft' if you want to keep the role play going."

That was it. Peter had to laugh.

At least this guy had a great sense of humor. Maybe he wasn't too bad after all.

"I think moaning "Stay Puft" when I come hard with your dick in my ass is not really doing the thing for me," he mused. "Though I will of course moan out whatever you want me to."

With a bemused smile, Wade leapt down two stories and landed heavily on a rusty fire escape. The abused metal gave way beneath his weight with a groan and landed him on his back in the street below.

"Jesus," he grunted, hoping Peter would take that as a response to sexy fun-times instead of Deadpool cursing the fact that his vertebrae just shattered on the curb.

Peter of course heard the noise in the background, but thought it better to not ask. It was none of his business, anyway.

"Even Jesus, if that is what you want," he joked instead.

Wade's laughter came out as a wheeze. "Alright, kid. I'm sure we'll find you some religion tonight. I'ma let you go for now and get all dolled up for the dance."

"Okay," Peter grinned. "We'll see what happens when your Holy Water fills me up. See you later then. And no need to get too fancy, you'll end up drenched in sweat anyway."

Wade collapsed back to the asphalt after he had ended the call, staring at the black screen in a daze. "Talk about maximum effort," he commented to no one.

In his flat Peter put his phone down and closed his eyes with a sigh, letting his head and his legs drop onto the bed.

Maybe Wade had finally understood now that his attempts to flirt with Peter would not work. He had seemed to be genuinely sorry and trying to apologize. If it stayed like this, Peter would be willing to keep him as a client.

Maybe happy, even. He liked the wit he could exchange with Wade. And the sex was extraordinarily good. That he was apparently very generous with his money was of course a plus, too.

He would wait and see what their second encounter would bring.

Only half opening his eyes he set an alarm on his phone to wake him up in 30 minutes. He would use the time to take a little nap. Assuming that Wade and he would power each other out again with some hardcore marathon fucking, he would probably need it.

He closed his eyes again completely and allowed his thoughts to trail off.

Wade Wilson.

Deadpool. Sounded like a terrible supervillain.

Maybe Peter should google him some time. 

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Wade happily tracked dirt and debris across the marble flooring of his penthouse, paying particular attention to stomping across the inlaid gold filigree.

If his Hello Kitty watch was correct, he had just forty-five minutes to bathe and sprint his happy ass down the island. Unfortunately, fucking with the butler would have to be kept to a minimum today.

"Jarvis! You better not be jacking off in my jacuzzi again!" he called out as he finally strolled into his massive living room, voice echoing cacophonously in the large space. "Nah, I'm just kidding, you can blow your old-man load in there all you want!"

A haggard elderly man stepped out of the kitchen doorway, fitted from head to toe in a stereotypical butler's suit complete with white gloves and tailcoat.

"Welcome back, sir," the man greeted with a sigh. "I would appreciate it if sir would once more recall that my name is Jonathan."

Deadpool spun in place and rubbed his body against the pristine, white wall. "No can do, Jarv. When you look like Paul Bettany after a lifetime of boozing and PCP you just have to play the hand life gives you."

Jonathan merely shook his head in defeat and stared at the crimson smear left in Wade's wake. All of the cleaning product in upstate New York wouldn't be able to take out the stain. He then disdainfully eyeballed the tracks of dirt and oil on the floor and thanked the powers that be for small mercies. At least the marble floor had been treated with sealant.

"Is there a particular purpose for sir gracing us with his venerable presence this evening?" he asked, resigned, as he followed the skipping mercenary down the hall. Wade was considerate enough to drag his blood encrusted gloves along the walls all the way down the corridor.

"You can go back to your jacuzzi fun times in a minute, Jarv. I just wanted to stop by and give my favorite butler a little bit of job security before I go out and have the sex. God, what has it been for you? A hundred years?" Deadpool tossed over his shoulder, punctuating the statement by leaping onto the crisp white linens of his circular bed and rolling about like an alligator. Jonathan rolled his eyes. It was going to take all night to get the congealed blood and dirt out of those percale sheets.

Wade finally rolled out of the bed, landing lightly on his feet, and strolled over to his harried butler.

"Keep your phone handy in case I need you to pick me up. You know, if my back blows out or something," he began, leaning closer and beginning to whisper. "From the sex."

Jonathan sighed once more and went about pulling the sheets from the bed. He was too old for this shit.

Twenty minutes and a quick solo session in the shower later, Wade was parkouring across the Manhattan skyline sporting a fresh new costume and a lopsided grin.

Meanwhile, Peter had afforded himself the luxury of a taxi to get to the hotel. Firstly because public transport was a pain in the ass and took twice as long. And secondly because he hated being crammed in a bus or a subway car with tons of strange people. He was paranoid. At least in a taxi he only had to deal with one person and out on the street he could get away easily.

He would have loved to use his skateboard - his second big hobby after photography - but even that would have taken too long. Maybe if he hadn't decided to take a nap. But it had been worth it.

It was seven minutes past their rendezvous-time as he finally entered the hotel lobby, his hair the usual mess, a blue Jansport Slacker hanging over his right shoulder. It hadn't been due to traffic, he had left early. But he had walked the last few yards to be a bit late on purpose, just to fuck with Wade a little. This was his last tiny plot for revenge.

Wade fidgeted on the lobby sofa and glanced at the wall clock for the fiftieth time. Where the ever-loving fuck was his friendly neighborhood call-boy?

The sound of quiet footsteps behind him went unnoticed as the merc absently pulled out a pistol and released the magazine, counting out bullets into his hand.

Peter smirked as he realized that Wade didn't notice him. He could be pretty much inaudible if he wanted to and he made use of that to sneak up on the merc from behind.

Then he leaned in and whispered into his ear: "I hope you don't plan on shooting me with those. I prefer a different load being fired into my body."

"Barbra Streisand!" the merc exclaimed in startlement, fumbling his magazine and watching as the loose ammo rolled between his legs and settled at his crotch.

He looked back at Peter's sly grin, eyes wide. "You didn't stand me up!" he observed excitedly.

It was almost sad to see that Wade wasn't angry or insulted at Peter's lateness, but simply seemed to be happy that he was here now. That made Peter's little revenge far less entertaining and satisfying.

"Of course I didn't," he said, supporting himself with his arms against the backrest of the sofa Wade was sitting on. "Sorry I'm late, there was quite some traffic. But I would've called if I wouldn't have been able to make it."

Wade didn't reply with anything more than a wide, beaming smile. Finally, he pulled his eyes away from Peter and started to collect the bullets from where they rested at the apex of his splayed legs.

"Hey, I managed to snag our room again," he chattered away happily, leaving unsaid that last night he had made certain to book room 418 for the next two months before he had left the hotel.

"Cool," Peter nodded, watching Wade with his bullets.

It was telling that the boy wasn't even surprised by Deadpool running around with a gun openly in the middle of New York. This guy was insane, he knew that by now. But strangely he felt that no threat was coming from him. At least not for Peter himself.

"So let's go up there and settle the finances, shall we?"

With a burst of speed, Wade somersaulted over the back of the couch and pulled Peter tightly up against his side. "You know, I'm pretty sure that if I pound you into the wall hard enough, gold doubloons will fall out of my ass," he stated under his breath, directly into Peter's ear.

The people milling about the lobby stared at the strange pair questioningly as they made their way to the elevator.

Peter went "mph" and patted Wade's chest in a 'yeah yeah, of course' manner.

"Well, let's find out. But you'll pay me in advance. You can keep the gold if that really happens."

With a soft chuckle, Wade let the quip slide and instead basked in the warm glow of Peter's body heat.

They stepped into the surprisingly empty elevator. It seemed that learning patience was a nicer prospect for the Ramada's other residents than stepping into an enclosed space with a man who thought it appropriate to accessorize with the entire contents of _Guns and Ammo_ magazine.

Wade waved to the affronted stares as the doors swept shut.

"Mmm, you smell really good," he commented, leaning in close enough to press his face against Peter's hair.

"Thank you. Creep much? I can tell you which shampoo I use so you can buy it and sniff it whenever I'm not close," Peter suggested.

He sounded annoyed, but not in the way that turns into anger. It was rather resigned. Wade was such a weirdo; it didn't even fit on any scale anymore.

"Nope, I'm gonna drink right from the source," Wade drawled as he wrapped his other arm around Peter, holding him tightly, and motor-boated the top of the kid's fluffy head.

Peter made a face and tried to pull away from the other man as far as possible.

"Ugh. Yeah. Can you please stop that," he asked. "This is disturbing. I'm not a perfume…"

"Eau de Peter the best perfume," Wade retorted simply. However, he acquiesced to Peter's request, but kept his arms wrapped around his companion in a tight embrace. Money couldn't buy this kind of contentedness.

Except that it could and currently was.

Or wasn't.

"You know cuddling is off limits," Peter reminded the merc. "Don't think I wouldn't notice. Are you already starting this night off with ignoring my rules? Because I thought I made myself clear about that earlier on the phone."

Wade grinned beneath his mask. "Cuddling? You must be mistaken. This is a manly embrace! Look at these biceps. Nothing but hairy chested, beer swigging, football watching manliness here." With that he began to alternate flexing his biceps and pectorals all the while maintaining the hug.

Before Peter could follow up with his threats to spit polish the ole family jewels with his knee though, Wade released him and collapsed bonelessly against the elevator wall in a fit of deep guffaws.

The escort, however, wasn't even slightly as amused as Wade was.

Maybe this had been a mistake. Maybe Wade had only played being sorry on the phone to lure Peter back here. And now he would behave in the same way as yesterday night. Being a disrespectful, overdoing it creep that simply couldn't take 'no' for an answer. Maybe Peter should back out of this as long as he still could.

He stared at the other man, pondering whether to give it a try or to leave right away. Maybe this guy just didn't _want_ to listen. Maybe Peter should snatch the gun from him and shoot him in the balls.

Wade recognized that expression from last night. The cold, calculating look of encroaching refusal.

Having Peter walk away from this just wasn't going to happen. Wade's laughter died almost immediately.

"Well, you know what? This elevator ride is taking longer than a lazy, drawn-out plot contrivance. How about we just hash out the details now? How much time you got and how much do you want for that time?" he asked, voice slipping into a deadly serious baritone.

Peter liked this voice much better. The cold look left his eyes and he raised his chin a little to indicate he was in business-mode.

"I have all the time you pay me for," he replied.

"Then that would put us at the rest of your natural born life," Wade responded without hesitation.

Peter rolled his eyes. "That's not an option," he declined. Especially not since his healing factor was - as far as he knew - making him basically immortal. Naturally, that was. "I charge 300 dollars an hour. And I will not sleep in the same bed as you. So either we will fuck all night or I'll leave before we go to sleep. Depends on what you want to pay me and what you want to do. I assume you're good enough at math to calculate the costs yourself."

"I sure as shit ain't your typical don, kid. If you offer bumping uglies all night, that's what I'll give you. Do you have anyone scheduled for tomorrow?" the mercenary responded, crossing his arms to keep his hands still.

Peter raised an eyebrow.

"No," he answered. "Not yet. Are you planning to hire me until I get my next job offer?"

Despite his attempts to keep the stoic, mercenary affect, Wade couldn't help but smile softly.

"Just looking out for you, Peter. You won't be walking once I'm through with you tonight and I'd hate to disrupt your livelihood." The ding of the elevator served as punctuation.

"Oh, I can very well take care of myself," Peter made clear. "And if you manage to fuck me so thoroughly that I can't walk anymore, you will get one hour for free next time you buy my services."

He left the elevator and let his hand trail over Wade's lower belly as he passed him. Teasing. That was something he knew how to work with.

"Ooo, I wonder what other prizes are at the bottom of the Cracker Jack box," the merc retorted in an attempt to bring the levity back to their evening. The comeback was pretty lackluster, but that tricky little minx had a way of effortlessly worming his way beneath Wade's skin and setting him off balance.

He swallowed against the tightness in his throat and followed Peter's beautiful ass as it made its way down the hall.

"Who knows, maybe you will find out. If you behave well." Peter leaned against the wall beside the door of room 418, making sure that his body formed a graceful curve. He didn't have a key card this time, so he had to wait for his client to open the door.

Wade cataloged every tantalizing dip and curve of Peter's silhouette, eyes lingering on the sliver of skin revealed as the kid's shirt rode up. On impulse, he palmed the key card from his tactical belt and slid it between his teeth.

The young man grinned at this and grabbed the card, pushing himself off the wall to be able to sink it into the door-lock.

Then he opened the door and entered their room. While doing so, he held the card out to Wade over his shoulder so that the merc could take it back from him. His other shoulder shrugged off the backpack, which gave a soft thud as it landed on the floor.

"Mmmh," he hummed. "Am I mistaken or does this room still smell like your sweat after I fucked you dry last night?"

Deadpool grabbed Peter by the waistband and yanked the escort back against his broad chest. The key card toppled to the floor.

"You going senile in your old age? Because I remember things a little differently, champ," he pronounced as he grazed his masked lips across the slender column of Peter's neck. "See, as I recall, Santa's little helper here had so many stocking stuffers last night that he didn't even make it back to the north pole."

Peter tensed as his special sense warned him about the 'attack', but relaxed as soon as he was settled against Wade's body. This man was no threat. An asshole, maybe. But no danger.

"That's only because I hate the north," he explained, pressing his buttocks back against Wade's crotch. "I'm more for southern regions."

Wade gently worried the lobe of Peter's ear between his teeth, simultaneously sliding a thick wad of cash into the kid's front pocket. "I got a job in the morning, but regardless, that's twelve hours' worth. Count it," he ordered in a husky growl.

Peter shuddered softly from the nibbling. At Wade's words he tensed once more.

12 hours. No one had ever hired him for that long. He didn't know whether he would manage to stand a client for half a day. Especially not Wade. 12 hours was a really long time.

But 12 hours also meant 3600 dollars. That was a whole lot of money. Maybe that was worth it.

Wade was annoying and infuriating, but he had a certain kind of understanding. He was not the sort of man who thought Peter belonged to him just because he had paid him. If Peter would want to back out of this after a few hours, Wade would allow that. If Peter wanted a break, Wade would let him have it. At least that was how Peter estimated him. And even if not, he still had his special powers. If something went wrong, he could still leave either way.

"It's okay, I trust you," he mumbled. "If I notice you didn't give me enough, I will find a way to take it out on you, believe me."

"Hey, hey, chill. Even I would be hard pressed to do the ole in and out for half a day," Wade chuckled.

Oblivious to the fact that the sex was the least of Peter's concerns about the duration, the merc was a bit flattered that Peter assumed that he could keep it going indefinitely.

"As much as I would love to spend all day staring into those beautiful eyes and planning our nuptials, I'm gonna have to leave your charming company in just a few hours," he teased, pressing Peter fully upright and giving him a firm smack on the ass. "The rest is for the cost of recuperation."

Deadpool took the opportunity to shuck his weaponry and tactical belt, letting them fall into a haphazard pile on the floor.

"I don't take extra money," Peter told him. "You wouldn't pay your fitness coach for recuperation after you worked with them for a few hours, would you? I know my business. I can take care of myself. You don't need to pay me for lying around on the bed after we're done. That's not your problem."

Wade frowned imperceptibly beneath his mask.

It seemed like every gesture of kindness was summarily rebuffed. Every touch needed to be heavy with the intent to take or it too made the man pull away. This ferocious denial of all things that even resembled caring was more than merely the compartmentalization of a business oriented mind.

He just couldn't figure Peter out.

"Well, you know what _is_ my problem?" he began in an attempt to bring back a bit of levity to the situation. "Not enough skin."

Wade sidled up next to Peter once more and effortlessly lifted him by the waist, shifting his grip to support the escort's buttocks and encourage those long legs to wrap around his hips.

The young man did exactly that and placed his arms over Wade's shoulders.

"How about you just get rid of my clothes then?" he suggested. "I'd be more than happy to become naked for you."

With a huff of laughter, Wade pulled Peter close and strode to the awaiting bed.

"Oh, take me now," he moaned theatrically. "You know, we're really going to have to work on your pillow talk. I recommend extended hours of on the job training."

"Who said I do pillow talk?" Peter wanted to know, holding onto Wade with his arms and legs. "It's dirty talk or nothing, big boy."

Deadpool collapsed atop the mattress with Peter pressed beneath him, though he was considerate enough to support his own weight on his elbows.

Someone had of course replaced the torn, fluid-covered sheets with fresh linens since their last tryst. That would have to be amended.

"I don't know if you're ready for the big leagues yet, Petey. The competition is pretty fierce. Maybe we should just stick to sweet nothings before jumping right into the nitty gritty. I wouldn't want to offend those virgin ears of yours," Deadpool simpered as he slowly lowered himself further, just to be an asshole.

"Aaaw, are you shy?" Peter asked with a pitiful little pout. "There there, no need to be ashamed of that. I won't tell anyone. It's okay if you just like vanilla."

Virgin ears. As if. Peter had heard things already that he would love to unhear. Some people's idea of Dirty Talk was so comedic that it was hard not to snort with laughter when they whispered it into his ear.

Wade scoffed and plopped his dead weight down on Peter completely. The kid made a low wheezing sound.

"There's nothing wrong with a little vanilla ice cream after destroying the apple pie," he muttered petulantly into the comforter where his face was pressed.

Peter chuckled and patted Wade's back.

"No pillow talk, though," he told the man on top of him. "You can scratch anything affectionate off the list. I don't do affectionate."

"Fine," Wade retorted, not moving.

"Good," Peter replied back.

Deadpool was quite heavy since he was ridiculously muscular. Peter could carry a car though without much trouble, so he could take it without a problem. He just didn't really know what to do with a fully-dressed guy just lying there on top of him.

"So you just wanna lie there for 3 hours or what?" he asked, poking Wade's side. "If that turns you on, I'm fine with that, but you know, I think you should get more out of your money."

Awkwardness aside, it was incredibly telling that Peter had barely reacted to the full force of a 210 pound man pressing down on him. Wade filed that fact in the back of his mind. There would be plenty of time to further assess Peter's inhuman capabilities in the hours to come. Right now, the warm press of the escort's buttocks wriggling against his crotch was sending all rational thought out of the window.

Wade tensed his abdominals and pulled his lower body up the bed to rest his folded legs on both sides of Peter's hips.

"Eh, you make a pretty boney pillow. How's bout we get back to the 'you getting naked' part instead."

With hooded eyes, he reverently slid his gloved hands up Peter's sides and bunched the cotton shirt up beneath his armpits. "Hey, can you close your eyes like last time?" he asked softly, voice tense with anticipation.

"Course," Peter nodded and raised his arms over his head so Wade could take off his shirt. "I actually brought a blindfold in my backpack, cause I thought you might like that. But I will leave my eyes closed as long as you want me to without you having to put a piece of cloth over them, I promise."

Deadpool closed his own eyes and took a deep, reassuring breath. "Nah, I trust you, kid." And with that, he hesitantly pulled his mask up until it bunched and rested at the bridge of his nose. Tentative and slow, he arched down to press his bare lips against the tantalizing stretch of Peter's neck.

The moment of first contact was every bit as wondrous as Wade had imagined.

Peter shuddered and tensed up immediately.

"What are you doing…" he mumbled.

"This," Wade murmured back before abruptly raking the sensitive skin with his teeth and thrusting sharply against Peter's buttocks.

The kid gave a surprised little scream and jerked slightly. He had been afraid that Wade would try to leave some more kisses on his neck or body, but this was definitely better. He relaxed and pressed down his ass to meet Wade's crotch. Now actions like these he was far more comfortable with.

Scooting back, Wade took hold of Peter's wrists and placed his arms, unresisting, above his head.

"Do not move these under threat of snuggles," he joked, sliding his gloved hands back down to map the graceful curves of Peter's chest. With that, he leaned forward once more and let loose a deep, rumbling groan.

The rhythmic rise and fall of the escort's chest emphasized the lean muscle that so desperately called out to be tasted.

Peter only grumbled lowly at the joke, but kept his hands where they were and his eyes closed. He would allow Wade to take pleasure in his body, as long as it didn't become too tender and affectionate.

Wade swept the broad flat of his tongue up Peter's sternum and followed it with a firm nip on his collar bone. Taking pleasure in Peter's sharp gasp, he continued further, brushing his lips softly down the swell of the kid's pectorals. He took one tight, light brown nipple between his lips and gave a harsh suck, tempering the ache immediately after with a series of slow, soothing licks. Wade pulled back, admiring his handiwork, and blew a steady stream of air across the quickly hardening nub.

The younger man beneath him moaned softly at the sensation. He was at the verge of feeling uncomfortable about this kind of attention, but decided to roll with it for a bit longer. Not because it felt good to himself - which it really did - but because it seemed to be some kind of foreplay for Wade and he was okay with that. For now.

Last night it seemed as if there hadn't been any time for buildup. It was more of a race to convince Peter to stay than anything truly noteworthy. But, tonight Wade had the time to make it memorable for his partner.

He would do everything in his power to make a lasting impression.

Wade latched onto the kid's waist, using him as an anchor, and ground his rapidly swelling erection against the layers of cloth between them.

Peter met those little thrusts by moving his hips against Wade's own, increasing the pressure. He was used to get to the point very fast. Normally people only hired him for a short amount of time and tried to get a lot done before Peter left. Taking it slow was not really his specialty, also because he was an impatient person.

A deep seated moan reverberated through Deadpool's chest.

The kid responded like a dream beneath his questing fingers. Each and every one of those little gyrations birthed a curl of fire in the merc's belly that threatened to consume him. Trembling with anticipation, he resettled his mask back down and pulled Peter's ankles to rest on his shoulders.

"Hey, lift up," Wade requested, punctuating his words with a smack on Peter's thigh. "And you can, ya know, open your eyes again if you wanted to," he stammered.

"Do _you_ want me to?" Peter asked and lifted his ass off the bed with ease.

He had always been quite sporty, especially since he had been skating a lot, but the level of agility he had now was worlds beyond what he used to. It came in handy in his job. And also in his daily life.

"It's fine, Perseus; I'm all covered up. You ain't gonna see anything you'd wish you hadn't." Wade's self-deprecating laughter echoed hollowly throughout the hotel room.

He divested Peter of his shoes with a casual flick and reverently doffed his jeans soon after.

"I don't care what you look like," Peter stated and kept his eyes closed. "I only care about what you do." And he meant that in both the good and the bad way.

"Sure, kid," Wade retorted. "I ain't exactly a winner in either category."

He palmed himself through his leathers in order to coax his cock back to life. There was nothing quite like a little morose self-reflection to put a damper on things. He slid the palm of his other hand down Peter's body and followed the thin trail of hair down to where the escort's admirable length arched down to kiss his stomach.

The escort quivered under the touch.

"I'm not saying that you are," he muttered, arching his back a little. "I'm just saying that I don't care. You think all my clients are beautiful models?"

Wade froze and focused on controlling his breathing.

"I'm not talking about normal ugly, Peter. I'm talking about the shit that sends good little boys and girls running to their mama. Shit like this," he responded, tearing off a single glove between his teeth and holding up the offending hand.

Vulnerability made his voice tremble. At least now Peter would have the chance to reject him before getting in too deep.

The escort opened his eyes because apparently Wade wanted him to look at something. The hand in front of him looked like someone had held it in a shredder.

Peter narrowed his eyes a little and tilted his head to the side. He had already known Wade's skin must look like the surface of the moon, given how it had felt around his cock yesterday night. But seeing it was still something completely different.

It looked strange. Maybe burnt? As if the flesh had been sucked in at some parts, leaving tiny craters. Peter wouldn't call it ugly, though. It was just unusual.

"Huh," he made after a moment of studying the exposed limb. "Seems I'm completely and utterly depraved. Cause I'm not running anywhere right now."

Especially not to his mother. His mother was dead and gone, after all.

Wade cocked his head to the side and gaped openly. Was this real life?

"Peter, I want to be your sledgehammer," he managed to choke out. Without reservation, he dove down and buried his face in his companion's neck, his chest, lower.

Peter was taken aback by this, but didn't do anything to prevent or forbid it.

"Uh, it's okay," he said lowly, watching Wade sliding down his body. "It takes more than bad skin to scare me."

Thankful beyond words for the security of his mask, Wade swallowed past the lump in his throat and voraciously placed light nips up and down Peter's upraised thighs. Each of them made Peter jump a little bit.

Apparently Wade was back to normal and had overcome his insecurities. That was good. Peter didn't want to play the therapist for this guy. His clients' personal issues weren't his concern.

"Sledge, sledge, sledgehammer," Deadpool continued humming, voice only slightly tremulous as he reared back and tore off the other glove. He caught a small tube of lubricant as it tumbled out and deftly squeezed half of the contents into his mottled hand. Without fanfare, he loomed over Peter once more and took hold of the escort's pulsing cock.

"You know, I brought a big bottle of lube. It's in my-" Peter began. But then he was cut off as Wade suddenly grabbed his dick and forced him to moan instead.

"Or we can just use yours…" he gasped. "That works too…"

"Shh…mine's Pina Colada flavored," Wade responded. Even the thick fabric of his mask couldn't obscure the obscene flick of his tongue as it slid across his lips.

Returning to the task at hand, he swept a thumb over the slit in Peter's glans and collected the fluid that he found there to add to the lube already squelching along his throbbing shaft. Wade groaned at the sight of the kid's purple cockhead pressing unerringly through the loop of his fingers. Everything was perfect right now. Even the jarring dichotomy of scar tissue against pristine, sun kissed skin.

Peter gave a needy groan and bucked his hips a little at the contact. Those hands. The rugged skin felt so much better than any smooth variety.

"Alright, Rupert Holmes," he brought out, voice thick. "It's not midnight and we're not in the dunes, but let's bring it on."

"Hey, no stealing my comedic musical references," Wade grunted, too involved in his task to pay more than half-attention to a comeback.

He scooped up the excess lube that ran down Peter's scrotum in sluggish rivulets and used it to circle the tight pucker of his anus. Wade's own stomach clenched and his cock pulsed sympathetically as a single fingertip slipped into the roaring inferno of Peter's body. Peter gasped loudly as the finger entered him.

The merc's breath came out in shallow pants as he backed off of the bed and wordlessly urged Peter to get on hands and knees.

At the command, Peter eagerly rolled around onto his stomach and then lifted himself up onto all fours. As soon as he had a safe position, he pushed his hips back into Wade's direction.

More. More of his fingers. Now.

Wade acquiesced to the needy little thrust of Peter's hips without hesitation. Falling to his knees next to the mattress, he pulled the escort's hips down so that his thighs splayed wide across the bedspread. The line of Peter's spine where it gracefully flowed into the swell of his toned buttocks was overpoweringly seductive.

Arousal sat heavier in Wade's loins than he could recall it ever had.

Heedless of his own need, the merc instead tore his mask half off in his fervor and spread Peter's cheeks wide. With a guttural growl, he drove forward and chased the sweet taste of pineapple and coconut.

He was rewarded with another moan and a whispered: "Oh fuck, yes."

Peter pressed back further to meet Wade's tongue and closed his fingers around the bedspread. He had had many clients in his time as an escort, but he couldn't remember anyone who had turned him on so easily. This man's mutant power apparently was being able to engage in absolutely divine sex.

With extreme force of will, Wade managed to hold back just enough not to destroy the kid. Trembling, he pressed his finger in alongside his questing tongue and delighted in the body squirming beneath him.

Pineapple had never tasted so sweet.

He snuck in another finger once he was satisfied with the way Peter's tight pucker stretched to accommodate him and reached beneath to stroke the kid's cock. The merc made certain to angle his forearm with each firm pull so as to simultaneously roll Peter's scrotum in the press of their skin.

The teen reacted with the most beautiful moans, gasps, groans and hums. This was so incredibly good! Wade knew exactly what he was doing. Each single action, every single movement increased the lust and pleasure Peter was feeling even more.

"If you keep that up I'm gonna come before we've even started," he panted, squirming with arousal. He could actually take some more of this, but he was getting closer every second and he didn't want Wade to miss out on the fun completely.

"Good," Deadpool growled, increasing the pace.

"Fuck!" Peter cursed and grabbed the sheet even tighter. God, who had taught this man how to be so freaking good!

He began to rock his hips with Wade's rhythm, groaning and cursing some more under his breath. Fire burned in his abdomen, his temples felt too tight, and he began to shiver.

"Shit, just a little more," he muttered, eyes squeezed shut. "Just a little more…"

"Come on, baby, just let go," Wade whispered as he leaned back.

With a final flex of his fingers, it was over.

Peter came with a scream and threw his head backwards, his back and lower body moving in waves as he rode out his orgasm with powerfully rolling hips. His inner thighs protested from the awkward position and movement, but the pleasure erased all negative feelings.

Panting, he remained just like he was for a moment to catch his breath and calm down again.

"Fuck," he whispered towards the ceiling. It was unfair to make Wade pay for bringing Peter intense orgasms like this. He should consider giving him a discount.

Wade slowly licked the flavored lube from his finger tips and eased his mask back into place. The ache in his jaw echoed hollowly in his neglected groin. It appeared that orgasm delay was starting to be an unintentional kink for him.

It was just so unbelievable to watch Peter fall apart. His own release was of secondary concern.

Clearing his throat, Wade climbed onto the bed and collapsed next to his companion.

"Hey, did you know that there are only seven planets?" he asked, reaching into his pants and giving his cock a leisurely stroke.

"I thought there were eight," Peter replied, his eyes still closed and his head still arched back. It was uncomfortable to crouch like this, but he didn't feel like moving yet.

"Oh, there definitely were eight, until I destroyed Uranus," Wade responded with a chuckle. He casually reached over and shoved Peter over.

The boy made a little grunting sound as he fell onto the mattress.

"Oh dear," he commented, still not opening his eyes. "Let's hope your rocket doesn't get swallowed by a black hole out there in space now."

"If only I could be so lucky," Deadpool drawled with a cheeky grin and another exaggerated stroke.

"I've heard that they lift you up into a completely different dimension if you're lucky," Peter said and slowly let his eyelids move up. "Some people cannot deal with what they have to offer."

Wade laughed uproariously, shaking the bed in the process.

"Says the guy who's more melted Jello fudge pop than man at the moment," he taunted. Being here like this, giving Peter what he needed and being able to banter back and forth in the kid's afterglow, was more than Wade could have ever hoped for.

He finally unfastened his fly and shyly took himself in hand. Peter even said that he didn't mind the scars and puckers of eroded tissue. Unbelievable, Wade thought bemusedly as he studied Peter's cute profile and pouting lips. Even if the kid was lying, it was still a nice thought.

As Peter turned his head to the side, their eyes met for a moment. Then Peter's gaze wandered down to where Wade was taking care of himself.

"You want me to do that?" he asked. "Giving your rocket some start-up aid? I'm still man enough to get you up into the stratosphere."

"Oh God, yes. Houston, we are 'go' for launch," Wade groaned.

Peter hummed and turned onto his side. Scooting up closer to the merc, he reached out and ran his hand down the other man's stomach until he met naked skin. He softly tapped Wade's fingers so he would let go of his erection. Then he closed his own slender fingers and palm around it and gave a gentle squeeze.

The merc's eyes rolled up into the back of his head at the sensation of another hand caressing him. Peter's fingers were soft and every bit as perfect as the rest of him. Wade groaned shamelessly and bucked up into that glorious hand.

The escort had to smirk a little at the reaction. He hadn't even started yet and Wade was already losing it. What a compliment.

He began to move his hand in slow but firm strokes, his thumb additionally going up and down along the thick vein beneath Wade's shaft with the rhythm. He watched his client as he did so, trying to see his reaction through the mask. It probably didn't really matter what he did, though. From the looks of it Wade appreciated anything that Peter gave him.

The conflagration in Wade's groin raced down his legs, strong enough to make his toes curl. Every skilled stroke of Peter's hand set off a shower of sparks behind the merc's eyes, nearly blinding him in the throes of pleasure.

He tried to moan, to make any noise to show his appreciation. But every sound caught in his throat and was strangled down to nothing more than a reedy whine.

The choked sounds made Peter grin wider and wider as he slightly increased his pace.

"You want more?" he whispered. It sounded like a challenge.

Wade gripped the duvet and arched his back off of the bed in answer. His body screamed to have Peter on him, against him, in him, anything. The mounting pleasure was too much for his touch deprived skin to handle.

Peter chuckled lowly and shifted for a better position. Then he started to move his hand at immense speed. He wanted to see Wade falling apart from his touch. It would be so satisfying to turn the tables on him like that.

With a full throated cry, Wade grasped out blindly for Peter's wrist and squeezed.

"What, the actual shit, kid," he managed to gasp after a couple of aborted tries. Typical humans didn't move that quickly.

Regardless, the heady amalgamation of pain and pleasure had set off a cascade of orgasm that couldn't be denied.

The merc wrapped his fist around Peter's hand and bucked up into the tight tunnel of their combined grip, riding out the waves of pleasure that bordered on pain. Hot ropes of come splattered against his costume like meandering spider webs.

Peter only laughed. His inhuman speed was not the only power he had, but definitely one of the most useful. Together with his advanced reflexes it even gave him the ability to dodge bullets from the shortest distance.

"Seems like you've made it into outer space," he remarked, amused and stopped his hand. Only his fingertips still very softly stroked the underside of Wade's cock.

The merc collapsed back to the bed and groaned at the light touch on his over sensitive cock.

"Kid, you just shot me so far into the universe that I had a crossover with the Guardians of the Galaxy," he sighed, closing his eyes.

The joke was completely lost on Peter, but he had to grin anyway. Yes. It really was satisfying to be on the giving end of the world-shattering orgasm here.

"What do you wanna do now that you're up there?" he asked, not letting his hand come to a rest.

"You want to explore the depth of a new galaxy? Or be sucked into a black hole? Or do you wanna take it slow and just float for a while until all your systems are back online?"

"Blah, blah, blah, insert space-themed euphemism for unparalleled libido and impending anal sex here," Wade muttered in response as he rolled over and lazily pinned the escort once more.

He leaned in close and pressed a soft kiss against Peter's shoulder, keeping the pressure light enough to be mistaken for an accidental brush.

Peter laughed and spread his legs to let Deadpool automatically sink between them. "Alright, enough with the euphemisms," he said. "Just shove your dick in my ass, Rocket Man."

"Ease up on the smooth talk there, Clark Gable, I may swoon," Wade retorted. "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn," Peter quoted in return, smile still on his lips.

The mattress dipped around Wade's knees as he maneuvered one thickly muscled thigh to rest outside of Peter's splayed legs. He was going to wipe away that kid's confident smile if it was the last thing he did.

His healing factor went into full effect and rushed blood back into his textured cock where it stood long and heavy, bowing slightly under its own weight. Wade fished the small vial of lube out from beneath Peter's shoulders and used a pillow to absently wipe the tacky smears of come from his costume.

Jarvis was going to have a fucking field day with that.

"You sure you don't want to use the big bottle I brought? It doesn't taste like Pina Colada, but it's more efficient," Peter asked.

Wade scoffed at the thought of having to stop.

"Kid, you just worry about laying back and holding onto your manberries," he replied, rolling his eyes.

With that, he maneuvered Peter's body into side-lying and lifted one delicious calf to rest atop his shoulder. He placed a gentle kiss to it and ground down onto Peter's other thigh. Despite the layers of cloth, the heat of friction against Wade's scrotum was enough to make him sigh towards the ceiling.

Peter chuckled and rearranged his arms to be more comfortable.

"Well then, fuck me sideways," he joked. He was still thankful that Wade had the same bad humor as he himself. It was always torture to work with clients who wanted him to be completely serious.

With a huff of laughter, Deadpool poured a liberal amount of lubricant into his palm and applied it to his dick with a single perfunctory stroke. He eased his hips forward until his cockhead pressed against Peter's entrance and leaned forward until the pressure gave way incrementally.

The tight, clenching heat of the kid's body was overwhelming.

Through the haze of arousal, Wade risked a glance down at where Peter laid composed and elegant beneath him. He was so very perfect.

He had closed his eyes again, one hand resting as a loose fist right in front of his face, the other lying beside the first one, palm towards the ceiling.

He moaned softly at the intrusion, leaving his full lips parted like that. Wade's rugged skin added an unusual sensation to the penetration that made Peter's neck prickle. He really liked that feeling.

Wade rocked his hips slowly enough to revel in the slick drag of Peter's body around him. He canted his pelvis experimentally, never wavering from his deliberate, sedate pace.

All thought had fled from his mind with the exception of the singular purpose to please.

His hands roved across Peter's skin and he marveled at how buttery soft it was in comparison to his own. At the touch, a need that had nothing to do with sex nor the mechanics of a simple business transaction bloomed brightly in Wade's chest.

"Fuck, Peter."

Peter only gave a low sound of contentment. The slow fucking felt so good. It made it possible for him to concentrate on every move, every time the unevenness of Wade's skin rubbed against Peter's inner walls in just the right way. He completely revelled in the sensation.

Finally, Wade found an angle that had the kid arching beneath him.

Grabbing the bedcover with his hand, Peter moaned loudly and laid his head back, his throat stretching beautifully.

"Shit," he whispered and bit his lower lip.

With brutal efficiency, the mercenary kept him there on the cusp of too much and not enough until the escort was a writhing, sweat-slick font of need.

Finally placing his hands on both sides of Peter's shoulders for better leverage, Wade began snapping his hips in force. The rhythm was brutal and punishing in a way that couldn't be sustained for long, especially with the firm grip of release that was already starting to clench tightly around his throat. He ground his teeth and struggled to reign his pleasure in.

Beneath him Peter loudly moaned out his own pleasure.

"Oh God, right there!" he exclaimed. "Just like that!"

Heat was flooding his body again rapidly, gathering in his loins. With one hand he grabbed the merc's wrist and held onto it tight.

"Fuck, Wade! Just like that!" he repeated. He wasn't even aware that he had just called his client by his name for the first time.

Wade.

Peter had said his name. Peter had said his _fucking_ name.

Holding back the insistent press of release after that was an exercise in futility. Orgasm flowed through him like a tsunami, devouring every last shred of self-restraint in its wake.

Somehow, Wade managed to grasp Peter's cock and use the imperative to bring about the kid's own little death as an anchor. He stroked Peter artlessly and continued to thrust even as his load was spent, chanting the escort's name like a mantra.

The overwhelming sensation was near painful, but he refused to stop until Peter was satisfied as well.

Luckily it didn't take long until the frantic stroking and thrusting made the young man scream in ecstasy and convulse under the heavy pulses of release. Gasping for breath, he clawed at the sheets and his own body, jumpy from the hypersensitivity the orgasm had left him in.

Wade was content to simply hang his head and gasp, thanking the gods of yoga for Peter's flexibility.

After a brief moment, he eased himself down to the bed in the position of the big spoon and let his hand linger on Peter's sweat-damp waist. Hopefully the six inches of space between them was enough to dissuade the escort's ire at anything intimate.

It was. Peter didn't object. Instead he slowly calmed down, his breathing becoming even, and relaxed his body. The feeling of Wade's come running out of him made him shiver softly.

"Have you ever thought of making a cast from your dick," he mumbled. "Cause it would make for a great sex toy."

Wade laughed.

"You lookin' to put in an order, Baby Boy?"

"Hey, hey, hey. Don't think I'll let you use nicknames on me now just because I complimented your dick," Peter made clear. He rolled onto his other side, away from Wade, but now able to look at him. "That's one strike. Three and I'm out of here. And will never come back. Understood?"

"Just an oversight on account of coming my brains out. Won't happen again. Swearzies," Wade chimed back with a teasing lilt. Rolling onto his back, he couldn't help the shit eating grin that split his face and made the corners of his eyes bunch.

"Good," Peter said. He didn't sound angry this time but he also couldn't just let Wade get away with it. His rules still hadn't changed. "I would hate to have to put you on my blacklist. Because yes, then I would have to put in an order for that toy, given that I wouldn't be able to use the original anymore."

"That's pretty presumptuous, kid. What makes you think I'll be back?" Deadpool retorted with a chuckle.

Peter clicked his tongue. "Oh, I don't know. Just a gut feeling, really."

"Oh, I'll give you a gut feeling," Wade growled, swiftly rolling over and pulling Peter flush against his front with a wet smack. However, before the merc could take things any further, the dulcet tones of Meatloaf came floating up from his tactical belt where it rested, forgotten by the door.

Peter grunted in displeasure.

"You have to take that?" he asked, almost sounding reproachful. Not necessarily towards Wade, but towards whoever dared to interrupt them right now.

"Nope, sure as shit don't," Wade snarled, burying his face in the crook of Peter's neck.

Not a second later, Meatloaf once more proclaimed his intent to not do _that_.

"Maybe you should at least switch it off then," Peter suggested. "Not that I don't like love-stricken hardrockers on motorbikes, but I'm not up for a threesome right now."

With a strangled yell of frustration, Wade threw himself off of the bed and stormed across the room. One glance at the incoming call screen on the offending slip of technology made him pause.

"Fuuuuck," he groaned. "Sorry, I've got to take this."

Peter sighed and flopped onto his back.

"Okay. But I won't stop the clock for that. It's your own fault you didn't switch it off in the first place."

Wade tucked himself back into his pants, threw his hands into the air, and kicked the dresser repeatedly, emphasizing each impact with an inventive expletive. Breathing deeply, he answered the phone with nothing but saccharine cheer. "Hey, Clint, ole buddy. How's my favorite avian-themed cock-juggler?"

He paused and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Can this not wait one shitswizzling night. Daddy pool is kind of in the middle of a business transaction," he whined, glancing over at where a sweaty little nymph taunted him with miles of exposed skin and legs for days.

And oh, how Peter made sure to display himself on the bed, sprawled in the most graceful way. No one got away with letting a phone call interrupt a job. He would make certain that Wade would regret not having put his phone on silent.

Deadpool winced and impotently clawed his free hand in the air.

"It's never too early to plan for retirement. Anyhoo, can't you just call the Iron Dildo? Or is his vibrator function not working?" he retorted with what was intended to be a teasing lilt but came out as more of a snarl.

A raised voice crackled from the speaker. As the berating continued, Wade pinned the phone against his shoulder and began to scribble furiously on a Ramada note pad.

"Jesus fuck, you just had to get personal. Fine, I'll be there in ten." Wade hung up and calmly retrieved his gear without a word. Once it was situated, he just as calmly put his fist through the dresser.

Weasel was going to shit bricks once he got his credit card statement this month.

Peter winced at the loud splintering of wood and propped up onto his elbows. Frowning a little, he curled his lips.

"I take it you're going to leave," he assumed. "Don't forget to get the leftover money out of my pocket. I don't want to be paid for service I didn't provide. Or if you want to you can leave it as a payment for the sessions yet to come. I'll let you know then as soon as it's used up."

Wade hung his head and absently removed the splinters of wood from his knuckles. It was a testament to Peter's mettle that he barely reacted to the show of casual violence. There was likely a story there.

"Fuck, I'm sorry, Peter." No other words would come.

The escort tilted his head. "For what?"

A dozen different responses flitted through Wade's head, but none made it past his lips. Instead, he pointedly toed Peter's jeans closer to the bed.

"Twelve hours. Signed, sealed, delivered, it's yours. I've gotta go, kid," Wade stated with finality. He strode over to retrieve his gloves. After donning them once more, he slipped the note that he had hastily scribbled a moment ago into Peter's hand and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Strike two, I know," he murmured, turning to sprint across the room and out of the door before the escort could respond.

Peter stared after Wade as the tension that had come up in him with the peck left his body again. Slowly he moved his head to look down at the note that the merc had left in his hand. This time it didn't make him angry, but actually brought a wide grin on his lips.

He fell back onto the bed with a sigh and looked up at the ceiling. Wade was gone and had left him the hotel room once more. Peter sure as hell would not leave it until tomorrow after breakfast. _Free_ breakfast! As well as free Wifi and a free, hot shower. Oh, and a TV! Peter didn't have a TV in his own apartment. This was gonna be an awesome night.

Humming he swung out of bed and strode over to the bathroom to make use of the bathtub. Fuck showers. They had a freaking bathtub!

As he lay in the hot water, listening to some music on his phone, he couldn't help but admit that maybe Wade wasn't so horrible after all.

* * *

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

"Barton, my bosom bowman, my avian associate, my delicious debutante … I will never forgive you for this," Wade screamed furiously as he flailed, skewered by the go-go Gadget arm of a particularly focused Doombot.

With an elegant flip, Clint dodged a series of explosions and deftly sliced through the reinforced housing of the mechanical arm. He quickly leapt aside from a retaliatory bolt of lightning and slid behind the paltry shelter of a smashed car. "It's not like you were doing anything constructive, Wade!" he called out in return.

Deadpool groaned and began the laborious process of pulling himself closer to the bot's body, slip-sliding down the writhing tentacle-like arm of metal that pierced his stomach. This was disgusting, even for him.

"I'll have you know, I was in the middle of _constructing_ a timeless love. A passionate story of lust and serendipity that had the potential for a _Lifetime_ three-part movie deal. At least, until some bird-themed jackhole up and ruined it by calling in a favor!" he hollered once more, finally close enough to punch the AI in its flat, metal face. The sharp crack of bone made him hiss.

"A timeless love with your 401K?" Clint retorted. Taking the bot's momentary distraction, he slipped behind it and buried an exploding arrow deep into the base of its spine. The resultant explosion knocked out a line of parked cars and set off the car alarms on two dozen more. Luckily, the residents of Manhattan Island were used to the inconvenience of super-villainy by now.

"What? It's a sexy-ass retirement plan, okay?!" Wade whined when the bot still didn't go down. Clint shook his head in an attempt to restrain his fond smile and sprinted in a wide arc around the bot, every motion followed by the AI's glowing, red eyes.

The evil bastard just wouldn't die.

With a huff of irritation, Wade gathered up a handful of various blood and jiggly bits and smeared it across the Doombot's eyes. He weathered the bolts of electricity that burnt like a son-of-a-bitch and dug his arm deeply into the ragged cavity caused by Clint's arrow. After a brief moment, the bot collapsed with a doleful moan and a fit of sparks.

"Fucking finally," Deadpool muttered, lying spread eagle on top of the Dr. Doom replica. The soft impact of Clint's boots approached slowly and stopped as he crouched next to Deadpool's head. "Hey, thanks for your help, Wade. Me and the guys are having a little get together in a couple a days, you know, grill some hamburgers and hotdogs or something, if you wanted to stop by," he said quietly, patting Deadpool's shoulder. Bits of the red and black costume crumbled into ash.

"As much as I'm always down to gobble some wieners, I think I've had enough barbecue for this week," Wade muttered in response.

Clint laughed and rolled his eyes. "Alright, well, the offer still stands if you change your mind. Oh, and Wade?"

"Yeah?" he groaned.

"You may want to stop perving on the evil robot before you wind up on the front page tomorrow," Barton tossed over his shoulder as he quickly rose and jogged away. Deadpool lifted his head from the bot's chest and glanced around wearily.

Light flashed off of the half dozen camera lenses aimed directly at him.

"Oh, fuckmuffins."

Peter tilted his head as a flash of red and black caught his eyes on the TV screen of his hotel room. He had only half paid attention to what was on the news since he had been busy with his phone, but something inside of him had made him look up just at the right moment.

That was him. That was Deadpool.

Lying there on a destroyed robot with the white eyes of his mask widened in surprise, he made a really comical, awkward sight. Nothing compared to the sex god that had fucked Peter senseless last night. But no doubt that it was the same man.

Furrowing his brow he grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.

"... but was destroyed by an unknown number of individuals, most likely superheroes. The only person still on the scene was Deadpool, which makes some people believe the fight against Dr. Doom's bot replica was a solo act, since he is not clearly tied to any superhero organisation. Some witnesses however claim to have spotted another man fighting alongside Deadpool and identified him as Hawkeye. It is unclear whether this was an official act on behalf of the Avengers or an individual deed by said superhero."

After this the news went on with another report.

Peter chewed on his lower lip and let his fingers tap repeatedly against his knee. Superheros. Villains. Superpowers… This whole topic was touchy for him. He feared his own powers, or rather what came with them. It had ruined his life, had him on the run, made him look over his shoulder constantly. He had often wondered whether the Avengers would be able to keep him safe, whether he should try and tell them about what had happened, what he could do, what other people tried to do to him. But he had always decided that it was safer to not let anyone know, to keep his head down and just hide away. But now that Wade maybe was linked to them, the subject forced its way back into his mind.

Was Wade one of them? Secretly, maybe? Only occasionally? He had talked to a certain Clint on the phone. And he had mentioned an "Iron Dildo". In Wade's twisted humor this could refer to Iron Man. Wade certainly would call him something like that.

Peter set the TV on mute again and began to write something on his phone. Clint. The Avengers. Yes. According to the internet, Clint Barton was part of the Avengers. Hawkeye. The same guy who apparently had fought Dr. Doom together with Wade. They knew each other.

Suddenly very fidgety, Peter jumped out of bed and grabbed his backpack. Leaving the TV on, he left the room and threw the door shut behind him before he stormed downstairs and out of the hotel. He had some research to do.

Moments later, after a quick wipe down in the restroom, Wade crashed through the hotel lobby like a freight train, throwing himself into an awaiting elevator as if it was a lifeline. Never before had the floor indicator gone so slowly. "Come on, come on, come on," he whined plaintively as he alternated between tapping his foot and rocking in place.

As soon as the elevator doors slid open, Deadpool took off sprinting down the hall and slid to a stop outside of room 418. He fumbled the key card, but managed to slam it home. Before the deadbolt had even slid back completely, he rushed into the room and fell to his knees. "Peter! I'm back!"

The subtle flashing of the television was the only response.

Wade hung his head, disappointed. It's not like Peter owed it to him to hang around in the off chance that he would show back up, but Wade had hoped. He slowly climbed back to his feet and went to collapse on the bed. At least the Ramada had sprung for nice duvets and memory foam pillows for him to rest his sorrows on. With a pout, he watched a news bulletin on how to keep your pets safe in the summer heat.

"God, just grow a bag of beans already, Wilson," he finally yelled at the ceiling fan. Predictably, the ceiling fan didn't have much of anything to say in return.

He pulled his phone out of his tactical belt and looked at it for a long moment before scrolling to the Deadpool in a nun's habit icon with the moniker 'dat ass' and pressing call. The line rang several times until Peter's bored voice told him to leave a message at the tone.

"Hey, Peter, I'm so sorry that I had to cut our evening short. You have no idea. I really didn't want to, but you see, my neighbor is old and blind…but mostly old. Anyways, her cat got stuck in a tree again and I promise that's not some misguided euphemism for nasty old-lady sex. When you get this you should totally give me a call. I'd be more than happy to hire you again today. This time I won't even bring the stupid phone. Alright. Call me," he finished in a rush of nerves. It wasn't that he particularly wanted to lie to the kid, but he also didn't want to scare him off after having made so much progress earlier in the evening.

What a clusterfuck.

Of course Peter had seen that it was Wade calling him. He hadn't picked up on purpose. He didn't want to talk to Wade until he had found out more about the man.

He didn't know whether to be relieved or frightened by what he had seen on TV. If Wade really had a connection to the Avengers, what would that mean for Peter? Could he trust Wade? Was he one of the good guys? At least he was not with Dr. Doom, it seemed. But Dr. Doom wasn't who Peter was afraid of.

He took the way over the rooftops to get home. He didn't have the nerve to call a cab or use public transport. He had to move, and he was faster when he jumped and climbed.

Agitation made his inhuman sense tingle from the slightest unusualness on his way back and he felt his stomach aching. Did Wade know? Was he onto him? Damn, why was his flat so far away from the hotel?!

Finally he landed on the roof of his home and jumped down onto the fire ladder. His window always was locked, so he had to use the door to get in. The hallway of the shabby house smelled like food, unwashed clothes and urine all at once, but Peter was used to it. He hurried onto the correct floor and through his apartment door, which he then locked. He never felt safe anywhere, but his tiny flat was the closest to secure it got.

He grabbed his laptop and opened it, nervously tapping his foot on the ground while it booted. As soon as the device was ready, he opened his browser, several tabs, and began to enter terms into the search engine.

Deadpool. The Avengers. Wade Wilson. He had to know everything. Even if Wade himself wasn't a danger, maybe the connections he had could become a threat.

For the next hours, Peter clicked link after link, skimming through countless articles and pages that gave him insight on who his newest client was.

Meanwhile at the hotel, Deadpool casually poured premade batter into a piping hot waffle iron. He closed the lid and watched the little rivulets of batter bubble and pop out of the container's seam from where he had over-filled it. A terrified breakfast attendant tapped on his shoulder politely.

"What do ya need, kid?" Wade asked, glancing down at the young man's pallid face.

The attendant swallowed audibly. "Um, sir, could you please allow the other residents to use the waffle station? …Please," he asked with an obvious quaver in his voice. The line had backed up out into the lobby, but no one had been courageous enough to interrupt the mercenary's quest to build the world's tallest stack of waffles.

With a smile that made the kid shrink down even further, Wade gathered his final steaming square of puffy deliciousness and hooked a finger through the handle of the maple syrup container. "Sure, since you asked so nicely." The stack of waffles teetered dangerously all the way back to room 418.

Moments later and twenty five plate-sized waffles in, Wade leaned back on the bed and stared at his phone. Was Peter upset that he had run off during the middle of their little business transaction? Was Wade mistaken and the tender kiss had actually been strike three?

He kicked the duvet furiously until it bunched up at the bottom of the bed. Or, maybe Peter was just sleeping. "People do that, right?" Wade asked the ominously blank screen. There was only one way to find out.

As he pressed the call button and listened to the monotonous rings carry on, dread settled heavily in his gut.

Peter stared at his phone for a while. Wade. Again. For a moment he thought about not picking up. About pretending to not be available a while longer. Maybe forever. Or at least til tomorrow. But then he decided differently and took the call.

"Hey," he said. His voice sounded more distant than he had intended. "Sorry, I was busy."

"Oh, dear sweet Betty White on a cracker, you had me worried there for a second. Is everything alright?" Wade answered, words stumbling over each other in his haste.

Peter bit his lower lip. Wade sounded so genuinely worried… Could anyone be that good an actor? Maybe. How should Peter know? It wasn't worth the risk.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered, scrolling down the website he had currently open. "I'm just-... I forgot I had an appointment. My phone was switched off."

Huh. Deadpool swung his legs off of the bed and sat upright. If Peter's phone had been off it would have gone straight to voicemail. Something wasn't quite right.

"Well, kid, how's about we have an appointment with the wall, floor and shower tonight? If you're lucky, I'll even invite my friend, screaming-o," Wade responded with false cheer.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Peter took a deep breath and swallowed. Then he slowly shook his head to himself and inhaled deeply.

"Sorry, but I can't tonight," he replied. "I'm actually out of town for a couple of days. But I'll let you know when I'm back, okay?"

Silence hung heavily between them, only punctuated by the quiet drone of the television in the background.

Finally, Deadpool swallowed against the tightness in his throat and responded with a terse "oh."

On the other end, Peter sighed lowly and leaned his forehead against his palm.

"Look, this has nothing to do with you, okay?" he tried to somehow explain a situation that wasn't real. "I just have something to take care of. I still have your money, right? And I said that I won't just keep it without actually working for it. So take that as a guarantee that I will call you when I'm back in town. I just- … can't see anyone right now. No one. Not only you. Okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course, kid. If you need anything while you're gone, anything at all, you just let ole Deadpool know," Wade responded.

Peter was lying.

How the escort could ever imagine that Wade wouldn't immediately pick up on the telltale tightness in his voice was beyond him. But then again, the mercenary sure as shit wasn't a typical don. Peter probably wouldn't expect a man he had only seen for a handful of hours to have learned his nuances so quickly.

"Hey, before you go, could I have a name to file your contact under? I've got three Peters in my phone as it is and I can't just keep your number labeled 'dat ass,'" he followed up with a chuckle that he hoped translated through the speaker.

But Peter didn't listen to the way the words were said. He only heard their meaning and he immediately tensed up so badly that his stomach ached and his throat constricted his airway.

His name. Deadpool had just asked for his full name.

That was it.

Without saying another word, Peter hung up and switched his phone off. He stared at it for a moment, his hands trembling, until he threw it on the bed.

He knew it! He couldn't trust Wade. This had all been a game. Wade was after him, or someone had hired him to be after Peter. Why on earth should someone ask for his full name otherwise. No, this was a trap. Someone had set Wade on his trail. It fit with what information Peter had so far on him. Not an Avenger at all, but a dubious individual who showed up on the scene sometimes and didn't hesitate to kill. He had to stay away from this man. As far away as he possibly could.

That had been the telltale sound of terror on the other line. Something must have gone seriously wrong to have Peter that scared. Wade tried calling once more, but the line went straight to voicemail.

With a strangled scream, he flung his phone at the television and took distinct pleasure in the way glass shards scattered across the carpet. "Cock gobbling, sheep-fucking bullshit!" he roared.

It was imperative that he made sure Peter was okay. Every fiber of his being burned with the need to soothe the kid's obvious fear.

"That's it, I was going to be a good little Sugardaddypool and stay out of your business, but you've forced my hand, Baby Boy," he snarled as he ripped a pocket flap clean off of his belt and pulled out a small GPS device. Peter should have known better than to leave his shoes unattended that first night. Well, maybe not, but theoretically it should go without saying that, when in mixed company, Deadpool would tag your shit. He flicked the palm-size device open and turned it on.

A tiny red blip on the screen greeted him, stationary for the time being.

Peter didn't leave his apartment any time soon. He was too scared. Paranoia had settled deep within him months ago and now one single question had brought it back up to the surface, burning, clawing and tearing at him.

People were searching for him. Hunting him down. They were everywhere. Even Wade was one of them.

He had felt so good around him for the last two days, so secure. Wade had exuded honesty and openness. The way he behaved had been so genuine. Peter really had thought that Wade was nothing but a creep that had fallen for him head over heels on first sight.

But as it turned out it had all been an act. Of course. No one fell for another person instantly the way Wade had made it look around Peter. How could he have been so blind. So stupid. It had been a trap.

Peter didn't know what to do. He felt trapped in his tiny apartment, with nowhere to run should anyone find him here. But it was too dangerous outside. Maybe they were searching for him right now, and he couldn't fight them all.

But what if they came here? Cornered him? It was easy to do that, they just had to block both the door and the window. Maybe he should get out of here. But he had no safe place to run to. Sure, he could use the money he had gotten from Deadpool to pay for a hotel room or something. But that wasn't really any safer. Still: Door and window. Also who knew, maybe the money was marked. Maybe they would know where he was as soon as he spent it.

The countless 'what if's and 'maybe's made Peter so nervous and frightened that he ended up frozen on his chair, tears of despair streaming down his face. He should just run. Somewhere far away. Maybe leave the entire country. Go to England, where no one knew him, where no one was chasing him. Maybe there he could be free.

Or was he just overreacting? Was this all just a coincidence? Perhaps Wade really just was a creep and wanted to know his name to scream it in the shower when he jerked off.

No. He couldn't rely on this. He had to expect the worst to not be caught off guard.

He let his trembling hand slip into his pocket and pulled out the big bundle of money Deadpool had shoved in there. He had 3600 dollars. Even a bit more from his savings. Maybe 6000. Surely he could somehow get to England with this.

But what if they followed him there? What if there just was no safe place for him anywhere? But he had to try, didn't he… He couldn't just sit here and wait until they would find him. He couldn't allow that.

Sniffling, he got up and grabbed his backpack. He emptied it on the floor and began to stuff some clothes inside, as well as the little food he had that could be taken with him. He would leave his apartment and spend the night somewhere else. A rooftop. A park. Somewhere in the open. Where he had a better chance to escape should someone attack him.

He gently placed his camera inside the backpack and grabbed his jacket and his skateboard. Then he shoved all of his money in both his pockets and the backpack, just to make sure. Biting his lip he had a last look around if there was something else he should take with him. But there wasn't. His phone would stay here.

Throwing the backpack over his shoulder, he opened the door and left his apartment. He would wait until tomorrow to decide whether to leave New York or not. Maybe his paranoia would settle a bit if no one came to get him by the following morning.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

Peter roamed the streets of New York for hours. He was so uneasy that he needed to just move it out of his body.

Skating always helped him to get his mind off of things, so he used his board to get through the city with no particular destination. He just wanted to move, not stay in the same place for too long.

At first he kept it in Queens. The streets, places, and corners he knew from his childhood. He had grown up here, had gone to school here. He was so familiar with this district. It felt like home. He had never been able to leave it, even though the memories ached. Ached so much that it was hardly bearable.

When the pain became too much, he moved over to Brooklyn instead. He hadn't eaten anything since dinner, but he was not hungry. He didn't stop anywhere to eat. He just went on and on and on, always on his skateboard.

Hours passed. It was late afternoon by now and Peter had lost the worst part of his agitation. He hadn't slept ever since the tiny nap he had taken before meeting Wade and he felt very tired. It was time for a rest.

He strapped his board to his backpack and climbed the nearest building from an empty, narrow side-street. From there he hopped and climbed over to another one and then another one until finally he pulled himself on top of a high-rise. No one could reach him up here. In heights he was safe.

He slumped down and swung his legs over the edge of the roof. It was calm up here. No cars. No people. No one to be afraid of.

Closing his eyes, he let the wind ruffle his hair and cool his cheeks. He would stay up here for the night. No one would come and search for him here.

Unbeknownst to Peter, Wade had been tailing him tirelessly soon after he had first set out that morning.

Sure, what the mercenary was doing could be considered a bit on the obsessive side, perhaps even stalkerish if someone wanted to argue semantics. But never once had Wade claimed to be the Bastion of Mental Health. And truly, he was only doing this to make certain that Peter was alright. Surely that made it justifiable on some level.

Early on in the chase, Wade had flipped onto a dumpster lid and scaled the brick facade of a squat housing unit. With his superior vantage point, it was simplicity itself to keep the kid in range, skateboard or no. Who the fuck still rode skateboards anyways?

Everything about Peter was a breath of sweet, unadulterated air. Be it two days or lifetime having known this kid, Wade knew what love felt like. It had wrapped its insidious little tendrils so firmly around his heart that to remove them would likely destroy him.

Yeah, he had it bad.

Wade pulled up abruptly when he saw Peter slow on the streets below and slip into a nondescript little alleyway, studying the immediate skyline. The mercenary flattened himself behind a parapet and waited with bated breath. Only moments later, Peter gracefully crawled past on the adjacent building, miraculously sticking to the wall like a fly. Superpowers confirmed.

"Fly-man, that would so be his superhero name," Wade whispered to himself with a grin.

After the coast was clear, Deadpool leapt across the divide and made his way up the building one window ledge at a time. It was slow going, but as soon as he cleared the roof, he was rewarded with the elegant silhouette of his Baby Boy backlit by the glowing lights of the New York skyline.

"That," he began excitedly as he strode across the roof, "was bitchtits!"

Peter froze. His heart and all of his other organs dropped and his special sense set his entire body aflame. Wade. How in the _world…!_

He slowly clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. Okay then. Deadpool had found him. Even here. Running apparently didn't help against him. So he had to solve this the radical way.

He shrugged off his backpack and slowly got to his feet. He wouldn't just give up, not even against a man with a healing factor, shotguns, swords, and obviously insane skills if he could make it up here on his own. Never. He would rather die.

As he turned around, the preparedness to fight for his life by all means necessary was written all over his twisted face.

"How did you find me here," he asked, his voice cold and hateful. Wade must have been following him. It probably had been fun for him to track his victim until Peter had finally settled down. Like a predator waiting for his prey to become careless. Well, Peter might have been off guard for a moment, but now he was ready to defend himself. Whatever it would take.

Wade paused to stretch his hamstrings and lean to each side with a satisfying pop. "You're even better than the invention of fried food, kid! I mean, holy fuck. You can climb walls and like skateboard and shit! Hell, my superpower is getting repeatedly kicked in the nuts and somehow managing to walk it off," he chattered happily as he readjusted a holster strap that had come loose in the climb.

"How did you FIND me!" Peter repeated, not even listening to what Wade was blabbering about. This man was sick. Talking nonsense to his victims probably was some kind of sport to him or something. Making fun of them before he ended their lives. Disgusting.

The vitriol in Peter's voice made Wade frown.

"Whoa, you okay, Peter? I mean, it didn't take much to find you. I just followed my heart. And my dick. My dickeart. Eh, I'll work that joke out later," he finished lamely with a grimace.

Peter began to tremble from anger. If he was _okay?!_ Jesus fucking christ! He would show Wade how okay he was!

"Don't you dare ask me that," he growled, almost jumping at Deadpool's throat because he was so close to snapping. "DON'T YOU DARE ASK ME IF I'M OKAY! You sick son of a bitch! Did he ask you to do that?! Huh?! Did he ask you to hire me and play your games with me before you deliver me to him?! Or was that your own idea?! To have some fun with me before you capture me?! Was that your way of finding out my name and whether I'm the right person?! By fucking me?! Was it?!"

Peter's words went right over Wade's head.

"Umm, maybe we should start over again," he said meekly. "I'm Wade Wilson, aka Deadpool, and I think that you are totally bananas. Also, you're really good at the sex and I would enjoy once more having the sex with you. But your phone was kind of off for unspecified reasons and you didn't really sound okay, so I figured I should just make an appointment in person."

Discomfited, he shifted beneath Peter's angry stare. The need to smooth out those furrows in the kid's brow rose up in him, strong enough to combat the urge to waver beneath Peter's anger. If he would just listen for a moment, everything would be hunky dory. Finally, Wade sucked in a huge, fortifying breath and closed the distance between them, arms spread wide.

"Hug it out?"

That was it. Peter completely lost his shit.

Faster than the human eye could follow, he dashed forward and rammed his knee right into Wade's crotch. That was always the best way to disable your opponent. The next strike would go to his head. If he brought down his elbows hard enough, maybe he could snap the other's neck.

Wade bent double and let out a pained wheeze. "Oh, Georgia," he moaned, staggering. After a brief pause, he managed to stand back up, albeit a bit hunched. "That's cool, I get it. No cuddly stuff. And I realize that it's not fair that I got to see your amazeball Fly-man skills so you were just testing out the ole Deadpool abilities in return. But holy flaming erectile dysfunction Batman, I was just kidding about the walking away from getting kicked in the nuts part."

Peter only yelled in frustration and jumped up to put even more force into his next hit. Bringing his elbows together and pointing them downwards, he tried to slam them right into Deadpool's neck to hopefully break it.

Deadpool sidestepped with a hiss at the discomfort in his groin and caught Peter's wrists in his hands. "Hey, Baby Boy! Seriously, what is your major malfunction?" he asked, bewildered.

"LET ME GO!" Peter screamed in response and brought his heel down hard on Wade's foot. "And don't you dare to call me your Baby Boy, you pervert!"

On command, Wade released Peter as if his wrists were hot brands. The strike to his foot was inconsequential compared to the hole that had just been rent in his heart. He backpedaled until his calves hit the parapet behind him. "Strike three…" he whispered, eyes wide.

In the blink of an eye Peter was there, grabbing Deadpool by the costume over his chest, and glaring up at him, his gritted teeth bared. In his fury he didn't even recognize that Wade wasn't fighting back.

"Who else knows where I am?" he hissed, Wade's costume making tearing sounds under his forceful grip. "Are they on their way here already? Do they know where I live? Tell me, you bastard! Did they watch us while we did it? Huh? That money you gave me, is that his? Tell me, Deadpool! Did you already let them know I'm an escort now and how they can find me?!"

With a strangled moan, Wade lifted his palms between them in supplication. "Peter, I honestly have no idea what's going on. I just wanted to see you again," he stated simply, voice thin with the first notes of panic.

"But then again, from what you're sayin,' it sounds like I ain't the only boy that your milkshake has been bringing to the yard," he said with a mirthless laugh. In an attempt to comfort the obviously distraught young man, Wade reached out to rest his palm against Peter's cheek.

Peter winced slightly from the touch. And it made him angry. So fucking angry. How _dared_ Wade to just touch him like that! He _knew_ how much Peter hated this! He did this on purpose to taunt him! Like he had done this whole time!

Growling he pulled his head away and lifted Wade a few inches off the ground.

"Well, you can tell the other boys that they will not get me. Not now, not ever. Neither dead nor alive. Though that might be a bit difficult for you." He lifted Wade a bit higher. "Given the fact that corpses don't talk!"

With that he yanked Wade higher in the air and swung him over the parapet. For a tiny moment he held him there like that, staring him in the eye darkly. Then he let go.

The funny thing about falling, Wade contemplated idly, was the fact that time seemed to slow. There was always a weightless moment of clarity in which the world and its trials simply faded away. Peter's beautiful brown eyes receded into the distance and, suddenly, pain exploded through Wade's body as his bones split and organs ruptured on impact. Someone was going to have a hell of a time cleaning the sidewalk in the morning.

It took several long minutes for Wade's body to reconstruct itself beneath the horrified gaze of local onlookers. Finally, he sat up and sunk his head into his hands. "You know, this would have been the perfect context for an 'I'm falling for you' line," he mumbled into his gloves.

It must have been an accident. Surely Peter would never have intentionally thrown him off of a roof. It was probably just a combination of bad footing and youthful exuberance at Wade confessing how much he wanted to see the kid.

On the roof, Peter didn't take the time to watch Wade hitting the ground. He had to leave before the impact, or people would look up to the building and maybe notice him on top of it. He had to get away.

He ran over to the other side of the building and jumped down onto the nearest rooftop, then quickly got up on his feet again to keep on running. He needed to get away from here, before someone saw him. Or worse, followed him.

The worst thing was that he didn't know whether Wade had already set other people on Peter's trail. He couldn't return home now, or he would maybe lead someone to there. He had to stay outside and try to change location as often as possible. Maybe go underground for a while. Cover his tracks. It would take ages now until he would be able to feel remotely safe again anywhere.

Wade slowly eased himself out of his crater with a groan and stumbled his way back up the island. Pedestrians gave him a wide berth. His suit may have been red to hide the blood, but even the odiferous layout of New York couldn't mask the metallic scent of dried tissue and organ bits.

He made it back to his penthouse without further incident, other than a resigned wave from the night guard. Without commentary, Wade shut the door quietly behind him and carefully shucked his filthy boots by the entryway carpet.

"'Sup, Jonathan," he murmured as he slowly picked his way towards his massive bathroom.

The butler hesitated at the threshold of the kitchen and simply watched as Wade made his way down the hall as tidily as he could. "Sir said my name…" Jonathan stated aloud, perplexed.

Deadpool sat patiently on the side of his Jacuzzi tub as it filled and stepped in mostly clothed. Bloody swirls flowed out and away from his body until the water turned red with it. Sinking down into the welcoming warmth, he resigned himself to not surfacing anytime in the near future.

After a few hours, Peter finally found shelter in an abandoned depot. Some pigeons flew out of a hole in the roof as he entered, ranting angrily because of the disturbance. One or two rats scurried away as they heard the footsteps. Otherwise the building was uninhabited.

Some containers, boxes and racks were still standing around, everything covered in thick layers of dust and spiderwebs. How fitting. Sad thing Peter didn't have the ability to use webs like real spiders did. Maybe he could work on something there.

He climbed up onto the old, rusty metal cross-beams and settled on a little gallery that had enough space for him to lie down without having to fear falling. He would spend the night here. Even if someone should find him here, the place was large enough to make an escape likely, especially since there were dozens of windows and holes in the roof.

Sighing, Peter let his backpack sink to the floor and slumped down beside it. He was so exhausted. The panic had left him and now he only felt tired and drained.

He had just thrown Wade off a rooftop. What had his life even come to.

Several hours and a few lovely chats with Death later, Wade dragged himself out of the tub and undressed. He paused for a moment to bask in the warm rays of the mid-afternoon sun as they filtered in through the bathroom window and cast light across the craters of his ragged skin.

His phone beeped at him merrily from where he had casually tossed it on the floor last night. The thought that it could be Peter ignited a firestorm of adrenaline in his gut. He dove for the phone and punched in his unlock sequence so forcibly that the screen cracked. No such luck, it was just a text from Barton.

 _You coming?_ It read.

"Well, why the fuck not," he muttered with a resigned sigh.

As it turned out, going to the barbecue had been a mistake.

Deadpool tried to sink unobtrusively into his hoody. Abort mission. Friendly camaraderie in 3…2…1.

"You doing alright, man?" Clint asked as he approached, one eyebrow raised. "I don't think I've ever seen you this quiet." He offered Wade a paper plate loaded with hotdogs and a beer.

Behind them, Thor roared something about a mighty shockwave and cannon-balled into the pool.

"Me? Never. My life is nothing but unicorns and rainbow sherbert shits," he responded with a beatific smile. Clint canted his head, entirely unimpressed and pulled the plate away from the merc's reaching hand. "Out with it."

"Fine," Wade growled, managing to lunge and steal a hot dog from the top. "I met this really great guy but then he yelled at me and threw me off of a roof. Happy?" he huffed, foregoing any type of clarification by shoving the whole hotdog in his mouth.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Clint groaned at the oddity that was their friendship. "Wade, everyone you know has thrown you off of a building at some point."

"What was that about the love of your life throwing you off a building?" a voice behind them interrupted. Seconds later, Tony Stark placed his arm around Wade's back, a glass of whiskey in his other hand.

Stark. Well, if that wasn't just the cherry on the current shit smeared cake of Wade's life.

"You know, there was this situation once where this smokin' hot guy threw me out of a window. Well, not just any window, it was my own window, actually. I think I caught him on the wrong foot. A lot of guys feel insulted when you talk about erectile dysfunction in their presence. But it was totally worth it! The hard grip on my throat, the hissed words in my face… God. Attempting to kill someone really is intimate! … Where were we again? Did I interrupt something?"

"Nope, by all means, trivialize my heartbreak with woeful tales of BDSM sex gods," Deadpool growled as he shoved his hands into his pockets and glared at Clint. Somehow, this was his fault. All of it.

A furious thrashing disrupted the sound of merriment in the background as Thor shoved Steve under the water with a battle cry of "Thou are not worthy!"

Tony granted the two blondes a short glance and a shaking of his head before he went back to 'helping out' Wade.

"Who said I'm trivializing anything? That was a very serious situation for me, too. Anyways, this is - for once - not the time to talk about me. Okay, it is _always_ the time to talk about me. But right now talking about _you_ might be a slight bit more important." He did the little sniffing thing that was part of his mannerisms and patted Wade's shoulder. "So, tell good old Tony everything about this heartbreak of yours. Who is it? What went wrong? Do you want me to sue anyone for a ridiculous amount of money to ruin their lives?"

Deadpool snatched the soggy plate of hotdogs from Barton's hands and proceeded to glare at him, uninterrupted. "Go home, Tony, you're drunk," he muttered, then took a savage bite of questionable meat product.

"In fact I'm not," Tony corrected him. "This is my first glass. I'm serious. Also actually, I am home. But let's skip the trifles." He adjusted his sunglasses and patted Wade's shoulder once more. "Okay. Let's quit the humor, shall we? What's up? Something's seriously wrong if Wade Wilson isn't making stupid jokes. Come on, let us help you out. I swear I will take this seriously. Trust me, I know what heartbreak feels like."

Theatrically looking around the deck, Wade gasped.

"Am I being punked? Is there a hidden camera wedged between Captain America's glorious man-tits or what?" he asked.

With a long-suffering roll of his eyes, Clint punched the merc lightly in the chest. "Out with it Wade, or do I need to go get Natasha?"

It was oddly instinctual that Deadpool specifically curled in and covered his nipples. "I'll talk, I'll talk. Anything but _that_!" he whined

"Wow. It's pretty remarkable that it's not the huge, green rage-monster that's the most frightening member of our team," Tony stated. "It's also sad that no one thinks I'm capable of being serious." He sighed and looked at the glass in his hand, but then decided not to drink anything. Instead, he set in motion and guided Wade over to the overly luxurious deck-chairs. "Now sit down and talk. Hawkey and I are here for you and your aching heart."

Amazingly, he even managed to finish the sentence without a hint of mockery.

"Have you ever been so deeply in love that all you can see when you open your eyes is the afterimage of their smile?" Wade asked, shoulders drooping beneath the weight of emotion.

The sentiment was only mildly interrupted by Roger's scream of "I hope you like the taste of freedom!" followed by a particularly violent stream of bubbles from the submerged thunder god.

"That was pretty poetic, Wade. So what's their name?" Clint finally responded, tearing his gaze from the debacle taking place in the pool.

"Peter."

Barton urged him to continue with a roll of his wrist and a drawn out "Peter…?"

Throwing his arms in the air, Deadpool finally collapsed fully into the chair and wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. "That's all I've got," he whined. "I hired Petey a couple of days ago, had some steamy Arabian nights, then he got cold feet or something. So I followed him with the tracer I had slipped into the sole of his shoes. Then he showed off his hella cool Fly-man super powers, hollered at me about some other dude, and threw me off of the roof. I'm head over heels for the kid. But I think he's in trouble or something."

There was a long moment of silence after his pronouncement.

Finally Tony cleared his throat. "Wait, I'm a little confused here… You hired him? You slipped a tracer into his shoe? And he has fly-powers? Would you mind to explain all of that just a little bit further? I'm over 40, you know, I'm out of the teenage-slang of these days."

Clint stared at them both, deadpan. "Tony, we're all nearly the same age. And I think what Wade is getting at is that he hired a prostitute."

Quickly shaking his head no, Wade nearly choked on a swig of beer. "No, no, no, no, Hawkguy. He's an escort," he emphasized with finger quotes. "Big difference. An escort with legs that go on for days and a cock you wouldn't believe."

Tony shot Clint an 'Are you kidding me, I _know_ what Wade meant, jeeze!'-glance and then rubbed his forehead with a sigh.

"And you hid a tracer in his shoe. And followed him around. And he was angry at you when he found out?"

"That's the thing though, he wasn't even angry at me! ... I don't think. He just kept shouting and asking me who hired me an shit," Wade responded, taking another pointless swig of beer. On top of everything, he couldn't even drown his sorrows in alcohol like a typical person.

"Ugh," Tony groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay. First of all: Tracking your love interest is wrong. On so many levels. Don't do that. It usually makes people very mad at you. Not helpful for a relationship, trust me. Second of all: Haven't you wondered _why_ he was yelling at you? Or what he _meant_ by saying that? I mean, he apparently found out that you're a mercenary and if he was shouting at you and thought you were hired by someone, he was obviously afraid that you were going to kill him. Because no offense, that's what you do for a living."

"I was going to ask, but then he chucked me off of the roof like a Canadian lawn dart. Like full-body lifted and threw me into the goddamn street," Wade retorted snidely. "And he didn't know about Daddypool's little secrets. I was going to tell him sometime. Just maybe a little later, like after the wedding." He shifted uncomfortably beneath Tony and Clint's matching expressions of incredulity.

Then Clint moaned as epiphany hit. "Wade, man…the news cameras. You remember from the other night? I bet he thinks you're an Avenger. And if he has…fly powers, whatever that means, he's probably trying to stay under the radar." A crest of errant pool water covered his face in spray.

"Either that or he found out about your 'secrets'," Tony mused. "I'm still caught up on the fact that he accused you of having been hired. Either way, he apparently was afraid of you. Which I seriously can't blame him for. If he's an escort, he sure as hell doesn't want his clients to snoop around in his private business."

With a whoop, Wade leapt to his feet and loomed over Tony, bracing his hands against the arms of Stark's chair. "Oh em gee, Stark! That's it, you're a genius! I should snoop into his private business! Can I borrow Jarvis, not my Jarvis, your less old and wrinkly Jarvis, to pilfer SHIELD's search databases? I looove my sugar dumpling soooo much. We've got to help him. Clint, get the Mystery Mobile!" he called out excitedly.

As much as Clint liked the guy in an odd, somewhat bemused fashion, it was a mistake inviting Deadpool anywhere within five hundred yards of Tony. Those two were nothing but trouble waiting to happen. "Wade, you've only known the guy for three days," he argued, knowing it was a practice in futility.

"That's two days longer than I need to be hit by the love train," Wade sighed, wiggling his ass suggestively.

Tony considered it for a moment, but only because he thought that it was morally required.

"Sure," he then agreed. "Go ahead. Help that kid. Though I hope you only use that term because he looks younger than you and not because he's actually still under 18. Anyway, if he really has super powers, maybe we should keep an eye on him, before the wrong people get their hands on him. So borrow Jarvis as long as you need. But keep it discreet, okay? As soon as you find something out, I want to know. Don't act on your own and don't do anything stupid. You obviously already fucked this whole issue up enough. Understood?"

Wade stood up to his full height, face nearly torn in half from the force of his smile. "Oh, you've just made me the happiest girl in the world! I would kiss you, but I wouldn't want to get space cooties all over this Grade A Canadian beef," he crowed, rubbing his hands across his barrel chest seductively.

Clint slowly stood as well and started to walk away. "I hate you both," he began, only to be brought up short by the wet splatter of Thor's un-manned swim trunks landing at his feet.

Tony's lab was eerily quiet as Wade entered. Sterile metal surfaces surrounded the mercenary and made his palms itch at the remembrance of steel gurneys. Regardless, he could stand a little discomfort for Peter's sake. Despite his affected aloofness, Wade was entirely aware of what could possibly be at stake.

"Jarvis, my man, take this lock of love and do something sciencey with it!" he called out to the empty lab as he held up an antique locket.

"Hello, Mr. Wilson. I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific," Jarvis' disembodied monotone emanated from several surfaces at once.

Wade spun in place and pointed finger guns arbitrarily at the ceiling. "Alright, first things first, Mr. Wilson was my father. Please, call me 'Pimp Daddy Master a da Flow,'" he said with a grin and a tight series of salsa steps.

"Secondly, Jarv, I want you to take this bit of hair," he began, releasing the locket's clasp and holding up the translucent, brown strands, "and search any available electronic genetic health records for all pertinent single-nucleotide polymorphisms, as well as any sequence identifiers and annotations that may apply. Kapishe?"

The AI hesitated for a long moment, then raised a small, glowing plinth from the nearest table. "Certainly, Mr. Flow, if you could please place your sample on the receptacle."

Wade clicked his tongue, but did as instructed. "No, no, no. It's 'Pimp Daddy Master a da Flow.' No cutesy shortenings or abbreviations allowed," he admonished the AI whilst settling the genetic sample in place.

"My sincerest apologies, Mr. Pimp Daddy Master a da Flow," Jarvis retorted. It was amazing that an artificial intelligence could somehow manage to translate a put-upon eye-roll into its speech patterns. Perhaps it just came with decades of forced proximity with Tony Stark.

In a matter of seconds, a projected holo screen appeared above the sample with a series of names and dates flying across the screen and leaving only ghostly afterimages.

Finally, five files stayed stationary in an array on the screen. Eyes narrowing, Wade selected them all and scattered them into individual projection screens with a flick of his fingers. He looked first at the partial matches, a Mr. Richard Parker and Mrs. Mary Parker. Apparently, this guy Richard had been a scientist working on a series of projects regarding cross-species genetic manipulation for both SHIELD and a private corporation by the name of Oscorp. Wade made a conscious effort to make his shoulders relax. This wasn't looking pretty. Both he and his wife had died under mysterious circumstances, survived by a son named Peter.

Abruptly exhaling a breath from where he had been unintentionally holding it in, Wade minimized the two files and pulled up the other two relatives: Benjamin and May Parker. Their files were relatively short, and nowhere near as heavily secured as Richard and Mary's had been. The legal guardianship documents stated that they had been Peter's adoptive parents for eleven years, until they too met an untimely end. The attached images were grizzly and the state of the room told the story of a struggle.

Swallowing against the lump in his throat, Wade minimized those as well and let his fingers hover hesitantly over Peter's file. 100% DNA marker match for Peter Benjamin Parker. There was no going back after this.

He selected the folder with a shaking hand. Before his eyes, a massive collection of data roared to the foreground in a series of icons differentiated only by SHIELD and Oscorp logos. The merc chose one at random and was presented with a series of heavily encrypted audio files. They stared back at Wade, taunting him.

"Hey, Jarvis? Are you able to break the encryption on these?"

"I can certainly attempt it. Just one moment, sir," Jarvis responded. After approximately five minutes of waiting with bated breath, the first audio file opened. Then the next. However, before the tracks could continue, Wade wiped the holo screen clear.

He stared at the glowing projection for a long moment, vision growing blurry from unshed tears. "Oh, Baby Boy," he whispered in quiet horror.

Chapter 6

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Peter had spent the night and the following day in the depot. Nobody had come to search for him which had made him calm down a little. Maybe Wade hadn't contacted anyone else and nobody knew where he was right now. Staying at this place seemed to be safe for the moment.

He had slept for quite a while and then had headed out to get something to eat. Now, an empty pizza box was lying on the ground. He had fed the crust to the pigeons and rats. He had always hated crusts, even on his sandwiches.

Since he hadn't brought his phone or laptop with him, it was pretty boring. The only thing he had taken was one of his science books, so he had started reading it a while ago. Maybe he would dare to head back to his flat and see whether the coast was clear. If Wade hadn't told anyone of Peter's whereabouts, maybe it would still be safe there.

The light of the evening sun filtered in through the broken roof and bathed everything in deep gold. It was actually a beautiful sight. Peter put his book aside and got his camera out of his backpack. He hung it around his neck and carefully climbed over the cross-beams until he had found a position that gave him a great angle and composition. He sat down with one leg dangling in the air and held the camera to his eye, taking the picture in for a moment to make sure it was right. Then he pressed the release.

Sighing soundlessly, he rested the back of his head against the vertical beam behind him and closed his eyes. Maybe it had been the wrong decision to become an escort. You never knew who your clients were. But there wasn't really much else he could do, given he hadn't graduated and couldn't tell any employer his name or address without having to fear someone would find out. Every decision he made seemed to end up being dangerous and it made it impossible to let go of his fear and paranoia. There just was no safety for him anywhere.

After a moment he got up and climbed back to the gallery to grab his stuff and jump down to the ground. He would go have a look at how things were in his apartment now. He could still come back here if it turned out he couldn't stay there. Or, if all else failed, he could still get back to his plan of leaving New York for good and go somewhere else.

He rode his skateboard back over to his home, which took him quite a while. The sun was almost completely set as he finally opened the door of the house and made his way upstairs to his flat. There was actually no indication that anything was off. The door was closed and he had seen from the street that his window was still intact and closed as well.

Still he was careful as he walked over to the door and slid his key into the hole. It was still locked. Good. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he turned the key around and opened the door.

Wade sat still and silent on the desk in Peter's spartan flat. Hunger pangs gnawed at his innards and his stomach cramped from long hours spent hunched in contemplation, but he made no move to alleviate the discomfort.

His GPS tracking device had been destroyed when his body impacted the sidewalk like a 210lb meat sack. So, here he sat, in the only place that he had suspected Peter would return to. Years of running from the monsters that lived in the dark had made the kid flighty, sure. But Wade had experienced enough loss in his preternaturally extended life to know that in the early years, before the taste of living turned sour, he had always made the mistake of trying to establish an anchor. Peter was young yet, and the contents of this tiny room served as his misguided anchor to the last remaining vestiges of normalcy in his life.

Wade grimaced and once more studied the wall of photographs in the waning daylight. Each image had a significance, each one a story that only Peter could retell. Yeah, he would be back for his memories if nothing else. It was only a matter of time.

Dusk settled heavily over the city like a balmy mantle. As the last dim glow of twilight finally gave way to the sundry of street lamps and city lights, the tinkling sound of a key resonated through the adjacent door. The slide of the deadbolt resounded like a gun shot in the small, quiet space.

Wade held his breath and forcibly slowed his heart, his still body merging with the deep shadow of the room.

With routine motions, Peter reached out to his right as soon as the door swung open to hit the light switch. The bulbs on the ceiling came to life and illuminated the tiny apartment. The bed, the chair, the fridge. The desk. Peter froze.

A shudder ran through his entire body and his heart began to pound so violently that the thumping sounds covered his ears. His eyes welled up with tears even though he couldn't feel anything but shock and utter disbelief right now.

"But I killed you…" he mumbled, his hand still on the switch.

"Hey, kid," Wade responded simply with a tiny little wave. "I told you, my specialty is walking shit off."

Peter still didn't move. He just couldn't. With Wade still being alive, his entire hope of maybe still being even only slightly safe was shattered. This man knew too much. Where Peter lived. What he looked like. What his powers were. He could even find him on the top of a building after Peter had been trying to run away from him. And he apparently could not die. Maybe his healing factor was so strong that even a fall from a high-rise could not harm him. There was no escape.

"I will not let you take me," Peter finally choked out. He hadn't realized he was crying until he tasted the salt on his lips. Was it the desperation? Or the panic? He couldn't tell.

This was just like the night they had come for Aunt May and Uncle Ben.

"Listen, Peter, no one is taking you anywhere. You don't trust me and I get that. I'm not asking you to," Wade began as he stretched his stiff legs and slid off of the desk. His muscular quads protested at having to take his body weight once more. He made no further move to close the distance between them and simply held up a small, seemingly innocuous thumb drive. "This is the last remaining copy of your files from SHIELD and Oscorp. I had Stark purge you from the system entirely. You're a ghost now. What you choose to do with that is entirely up to you," he stated evenly, tossing the drive onto the floor at Peter's feet.

Peter looked down at it without saying a word. Emotions were crashing down on him, so many at once that he didn't know what he actually felt. But they weighed on him heavily and almost crushed his body with their intensity.

His files. Oscorp. SHIELD. Stark. His entire past, all of his pain, saved onto one little device like this.

"So you know," he whispered after a while.

"Yeah, I know," Wade said, idly plucking a frayed string from his hoodie sleeve rather than make eye-contact. "I didn't at first."

Peter slowly crouched down to pick up the thumb drive and hold it in his hand. He closed his fingers around it as he got up again and then looked back over at Wade.

"Why did you do this?" he asked, his voice broken from the tears. "What's all this about? Why would you want to help me?"

The mercenary laughed, his voice hollow with the ring of self-derision. "I like you," he confessed with a shrug, leaving it at that. Even in such a private setting, it was a struggle to expose himself so. The affected shield of bluster and nonsensical verboseness crumbled beneath the weight of Peter's tears.

"You've only known me for a couple of days," Peter stated. "You hired me, it wasn't even dating. And this is enough to make you follow me around town and then dig up all of my files after I threw you off a building?"

Wade sunk his face into his hands and scrubbed viciously at his mask. There was no easy answer, no easy solution, when all he wanted to do was rush over and hold Peter tightly against the raging storms of grief and mistrust.

"I… Jesus fuck… I don't…"

He yelled unintelligibly through gritted teeth at his own inability to express anything that could convince Peter of his good intentions.

"Listen, I realize that it was just a job for you. Believe me, I know. But, puppies on a pogo stick, Peter, you are the most amazing person I've ever met. Whether I had two days or two years to get to know you, I wouldn't change my mind on that. I realize you only trust me as far as you can throw me. On second thought, that would be at least twenty eight stories, so maybe that's not necessarily the best idiom to use," he paused, wringing his hoodie pocket in his fists.

It felt like a vice had been placed around his heart, the pain of it nearly bringing him to his knees. Instead, he inhaled deeply and turned towards the window, unlatching it. "I gotta go. You've got my number if you want to talk or, you know, other stuff," he mumbled.

Wade pressed his forehead to the window pane. This time _he_ was the one running away. This whole debacle would be just another tally mark on his list of fucked up interpersonal relationships.

Peter didn't say a word. He just watched as Wade fumbled with his jacket and then with the window, only slightly tightening the grip around the thumb drive. He didn't know how to react to this.

He had never really had any friends. He had always been the nerd, the outsider. No one in school had liked him. Except for Harry, but Harry had left years ago and had never called or tried to keep contact. There had been no one in his age group that he had gotten along with, so he really couldn't believe that anyone thought he was amazing.

Also - and this was the part that got to him even more - all of the people he had once loved were dead. His parents, Aunt May, and Uncle Ben. They were all gone because of him. How could he allow anyone to get attached to him again? How could he even trust anyone to get this close in the first place? He was on the run. Everyone was a potential threat. Nothing about this situation was right.

He swallowed and blinked the tears out of his eyes. Who even fell in love with someone after this short amount of time.

He remained silent and just stared at Wade, not moving an inch. This situation was so unreal that his mind couldn't follow. Doing nothing was the only thing he was capable of right now.

The mercenary opened the window easily on its well-oiled rails.

"I guess that's it then," he said brokenly as he sat on the sill and swung his feet out of the small aperture. "Though, you know, kid. As sorry as I am that all of this shit happened to you, you're not the only unlucky bastard to draw the short straw in life. Sometimes the hardest part is letting go of the fear and moving on. Failing that, you can always hunt the sick, experimenting fucks down and turn them into human kebabs."

And with those parting words, Wade dropped onto the fire escape and slowly made his way down the rickety ladder.

Inside of the flat, Peter bit his lip and slid down the wall, the door of his apartment still standing open. Leaning his head back and closing his eyes, he allowed his tears to fall freely until he had cried himself empty in the quiet of the little room.

Wade wandered aimlessly down the narrow alleys and byways of Queens, picking his way through the squalor. He vacillated between anger and soul-crushing grief as he swept along the streets like a shadow. Clenching his fists, he shouldered his way into a seedy bar, well known among low level circles to house an illegal fight club.

An hour later, he stumbled out with a broken smile, knuckles bloody and suit torn. At least that ache was corporeal. Internal bleeding was the kind of pain that he could rationalize, the kind of pain that left no lingering trace.

Continuing his solitary trek, the mercenary mounted the steel trusses of the Ed Koch Queensboro Bridge and climbed his way up to perch on one of the central towers nearest the western suspended span. The skyline hosted a stunning array of twinkling lights shooting off rays like sunbursts in the smog. This was where the city was most beautiful.

However, a jaunty jingle broke the sanctity of his quiet contemplation. "Really not in the mood," he muttered, pulling out his phone regardless. A single text stared back at him reproachfully.

It was Peter.

 **4:01 AM:** _Can we meet up? I wanna talk._

Wade sucked in a breath and closed his eyes against the sudden burst of hope welling up within him. Maybe he didn't fuck things up completely. Blinking back tears, he rotated his camera aperture and took a panoramic shot of the bridge's anchorage blocks and the glimmering skyline between. Before he could talk himself out of it, he hit send and set his phone back into its pouch.

Now, the ball was in Peter's court.

Peter studied the picture for a moment before he got up and grabbed his backpack. With his skateboard tucked under his arm, he left the apartment and shut the door behind him.

It was cool outside so he put up his hoodie before he jumped on the board. Even though it was the middle of the night, there were still some people out and about. New York really was the city that never slept. Which wasn't helping if you had paranoia.

It took him a while, but he arrived at the point that he had identified on Wade's photo and brought the skateboard back under his arm with an experienced kick. Then he looked around to see where exactly Wade was sitting. He assumed it was somewhere high up, judging from the angle of the photo.

Strapping the board to his backpack he began to climb. It was easy with all the metal work, so he was up in no time. He wiped his hands on his jeans and looked around once more to see if he could find the merc somewhere.

Meanwhile, Deadpool reclined on his elbows and continued to wait, swinging his lower legs off of the side of the tower. Barges churned the water below and offered a low bass accompaniment to the rhythm of the traffic on the bridge.

Peter climbed behind him soundlessly.

"Seems I'm not the only one who likes to sit on places like this in the middle of the night," he commented lowly.

Smiling softly, Wade shifted over to the side of the plinth to give Peter as much space as possible. "Yeah, it's funny. It's like the world can't reach you up here," he said, head dropping back to stare at the stars.

"Yeah," Peter agreed and sat down next to Wade. "At least I thought that until you found me on that roof. Turns out the world can reach you anywhere."

"Nah, just your friendly neighborhood Deadpool," he retorted. "You're harder to find than God in a whorehouse. Just so happens that finding people is part of my very specific set of skills."

Peter only snorted in return.

"Why did you even go after me?" he asked. "I thought I had made it clear that I didn't want to see anyone."

"Sure, that's what you said, kid. But sure as shit I know the sound of fear. There's this distinct note of 'my balls have yet to drop' in people's voices when their life is threatened. Though, to be honest, most of the time I'm the one putting it there," Wade commented idly, finally sitting up and resting his elbows on his knees instead. A fog horn bellowed below.

"Huh," Peter made. "But it was you I was afraid of. I saw you in the news. I did my research on you and I thought you were after me. Either on behalf of the Avengers or because of Osborn. Then you asked for my full name. And even followed me on that rooftop. It looked as if you really were chasing me."

At a loss, Wade began to laugh until his stomach ached and he abruptly choked on his own spittle. Maybe he should add unintentional self-sabotage to his list of skills.

"Well, fuck me sideways. Petey, I'm a mercenary, not an assassin. Regardless, nobody hired me to do jack. That triple X feature starring Dr. Doom's personal sex toy was just my buddy Barton calling in a favor. He told me it was either that or he would hogtie me and make me the centerpiece for one of Black Widow's male reviews. But, as you know, nobody wants to see this," he said, motioning towards all of himself so energetically that he fell back to the plinth with a grunt. "Anyhoo, I just wanted your name so I could scream it while I masturbated in the shower."

Peter didn't find any of this funny, really. To him this whole situation had been awful, it had triggered a ton of shit for him and had left him being even more of a wreck than before. He wanted to scream all this at Deadpool, but he couldn't. He was so drained that there was no energy left in him to do that.

"You're insane," he replied instead. "Do you even realize what you put me through? What you caused?"

Wade closed his eyes. His cheer at the relief that Peter was actually talking to him and not chucking him off of the bridge to see if he bounced was quickly mollified. "No, I really didn't. I didn't mean to scare you, kid."

"But you did," Peter stated. It didn't sound like a reproach, it was just a fact.

He pulled his knees up to his chin and hugged his legs.

"How much of the files did you see? What do you know?"

Shielding his face beneath the safety of his arm, Deadpool winced. He had sincerely hoped that this particular conversation would never have to happen.

"Not much, but enough." The whispered admission was muffled by the mass of his bicep.

"Wow, that tells me everything," Peter muttered with sarcasm. "Has Stark seen them? You said he deleted them from everywhere. Are you sure he doesn't still own a copy of them? Has he looked at them before he took them down?"

Wade fidgeted and rolled from the ground to sit on his heels, bouncing on the balls of his feet in agitation.

"Relax. I honestly didn't see too much, just got a basic outline from some of Oscorp's research notes and a whole new set of nightmares. Tony doesn't know shit. I had his AI delete it all and then I booked it," he admitted.

"And you're certain it's gone?" Peter wanted to know. "I can imagine Stark's own AI is more loyal to him than to you. Next thing I know he knocks at my door and tries to recruit me or something."

"Nah, that drive is that last of it. Jarvis and I have this Lady and the Tramp love affair goin' on. Tony's the fuckin' meatball," Wade stated with a broad grin despite his discomfiture. In that moment of distraction, he overbalanced and toppled over the side.

With reflexes faster than imaginable, Peter reached out to grab him.

"We're not done here yet," he made clear and yanked Wade back up. "No leaving til I say so."

Deadpool gaped openly, lips parted, from where he lay sprawled on the concrete. "I am so hard right now, you have no idea."

Peter studied him for a moment.

This man _was_ insane. If he had told Peter the truth, then Wade had done all of this because he had fallen for the escort head over heels. After only a handful of days. It had been enough to make him find out who Peter was - how he had even managed to do that was still a mystery Peter would solve - and make sure that all of the evidence disappeared to protect him. Love was the strongest force to make people loyal and caring. Maybe Peter could use that.

Of course his paranoia still had him on the look out. Wade could still be lying. But why would he do that? He had had several chances to take Peter down already, so this didn't make any sense. Peter would believe him for now, but of course with his guard still being up. He wouldn't allow himself to become too careless. But it would also be very stupid to let this chance slip away. He could use Wade to his own advantage.

He got on all fours and crawled over the mercenary, sitting down on his thighs.

"Are you?" he purred, letting his palm run up Wade's crotch.

Wade grasped Peter's wrist and stopped the progress of his hand. "As much as I appreciate the sexy change of heart, people don't change their minds that quick. What are you getting at, kid?"

The familiar press of Peter's thighs as they bracketed his hips was damn near enough to make Wade forgo the question altogether and just accept the charade. Almost.

Peter pulled the corner of his mouth up into a lopsided little smirk.

"I have an offer to make you," he said, pressing his palm down a bit harder. "An offer that I think both of us will profit from."

Touch-starved, Wade couldn't help but release Peter's wrist and instead grind up into that firm grip. "I'm listening."

Peter grinned a little wider and began to rub his palm firmly against the swelling erection underneath the fabric.

"You're strong," he stated, keeping his voice in a seductive whisper. "You're a skilled mercenary. And you're immortal. You know about my past and you know who my enemies are. So how about you let me hire you to protect me from them? I'm sure you're just the right man to keep me safe."

"Oh, and how exactly are you proposing to pay for the twenty-four, seven pleasure of all of this bulging eye-candy?" Wade inquired, voice tight.

The young man hummed and leaned over Wade, supporting himself with one hand next to Wade's shoulder.

"How does twenty-four, seven access to my escort-services sound?" he asked, licking his lower lip. "I'll be only yours. Whenever you want. And you don't have to pay a single dollar for it."

This... this was like Christmas had sex with Wade's birthday and popped out the greatest holiday of all. Still, he rubbed his chin idly in an exaggerated show of contemplation.

"Hmm... intriguing, but I'd like to make a counter offer. I'll take the twenty-four, seven assault with a friendly weapon, but I want to add full backstory transparency in the next chapter, and three hugs, to be given at a time of my choosing. And none of that half-assed, back-pat bullshit. I'm talking a full frontal, bodies-pressed-together-so-tightly-that-our-dicks-touch embrace. Oh, and all-you-can-stand pet name privileges," he finished with a shit-eating grin.

Peter gnawed at his lower lip and squinted his eyes for a moment.

"I agree to the hugs and the nicknames," he finally said. "My backstory will only be revealed as far as needed for you to do your job. The rest stays with me until I _might_ decide to give away more, but I make no promises. In return you'll give me access to food and other items I need. Because I won't earn any money anymore if I'm at your service for free all the time. And kissing stays off limits."

"Oh, Petey-pie, Baby Boy, Snickerdoodle, Kitten Pickles!" Wade exclaimed, nearly weeping with joy. Without warning, he pulled Peter down on top of him and held him there in a contractually obligated, full-frontal hug. "I'll be your sugar daddypool! Don't you worry, mi casa es tu casa, y mi cuerpo está listo!"

Peter went "mph" as he was forced against Wade's body. "God, you're such a weirdo," he groaned. "This hug already counts, by the way. And don't try to squeeze in any extras that we didn't agree on."

"Shh, don't ruin the moment," Wade whispered back. He watched the stars twinkle overhead and took comfort in the way they sunk together as seamlessly as puzzle pieces.

Notes:

Look at this awesome fanart gothicmuse drew for this fic! 333  
post/146088278765

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

Peter's belongings fit into only two boxes. When the cab parked in front of the huge, 15 Central Park West Tower, Peter couldn't help but stare at it. Wade lived _here?!_ This had to be a joke. No way he could afford living in _that!_

He recalled Wade laughing once about the fact that Peter thought he lived in a flat. He understood why now. If Wade really owned something in _there_ then it was sure as hell more than just a normal apartment. No wonder he had been able to so generously shove money into Peter's pockets.

Shaking his head, Peter loaded the boxes onto his arms and made his way over to the door. The bellhop eyeballed him suspiciously, but Wade had probably told him someone would be coming here to visit his place, because the man didn't say anything.

As Peter studied the buttons of the elevator, he furrowed his brows. This couldn't be true. Wade lived on top of this thing? Holy fucking shit. He must actually be rich. Really, really rich.

"Sugardaddypool," he muttered to himself as he pressed the right button and waited for the elevator to go all the way up. Heights. Heights were good.

Finally the doors opened and Peter carried his boxes over to the entrance of 'Casa del Deadpool'. His new home for the time being.

He took a final deep breath and stared at the door bell for a moment. Then he turned a little and pressed it with his elbow. He could hear the ringing through the impressively large, decorated door.

A horrendous crash resounded within the apartment, followed by a screamed string of expletives and the heavy thud of running footfalls. Wade tore the door open so quickly that the hinges groaned. "Baby Boy!" he greeted Peter ecstatically. "Come on in, roomie!" Wade stood in the doorway, blocking it with his massive bulk and making no move to step aside. His wide, toothy smile was evident even beneath his Deadpool mask.

Peter raised one eyebrow and sighed internally.

"Well, I would love to," he replied. "But I can't. You'll have to move your rich ass. Passing through solid objects is not part of my super powers."

"Oh, my bad. Want some help with those?" Wade asked, crowding closer to Peter and holding out his arms to accept the boxes. Surely the kid had brought more than that.

"I can carry them myself. Inhuman strength _is_ part of my super powers," Peter declined. "Just let me through and tell me where I can put these."

Wade walked backwards a few steps and folded his hands behind his head. "Oh, the possibilities," he said joyfully. "Alright, kid, this way!" With that, he strode down the hall, the red of his suit reflected in the Italian marble floor.

Peter rolled his eyes behind Wade's back and then set in motion to follow him. He couldn't help but let his gaze wander on the way.

Jesus fucking child of Maria. This was absolutely and ridiculously _insane!_

"Did you kill the former owner of this palace or are you really that rich?" Peter asked as they passed decoration that was worth one month of rent for his own tiny place. "Or are you that rich because you killed the former owner?"

The merc chuckled and turned a corner. "A little bit of both."

The long hall swept up into a grand library wherein a fairly spartan array of modern-styled furniture shone resplendently in the late morning sun. A wall of books stretched from the floor and kissed the incredibly tall ceiling directly across from a stretch of glass panels that boasted a view of Central Park.

"What can I say, I'm really good at ending people. And, when you're the best in the business at what you do, you get to charge whatever the fuck you want." Wade turned just enough to pointedly look Peter up and down out of his periphery. "I just bought this place because I needed somewhere to keep my guns, and suits, and shit."

"Oh, trust me, I know about charging what you want when you're good at something," the escort said. His eyes were glued to the enormous window to his right. On one hand he liked windows because they offered a chance to escape. On the other hand they meant you were visible to the outside world, and this part of windows Peter didn't like.

"But you do live here, right?" he wanted to know, managing to tear his gaze off the windows. "Or will I have this entire place for myself?"

Wade laughed good-naturedly. "Slow your roll, Baby Boy. I can't exactly guard that hella fine body when I'm not around, right?" He kicked open a large white door and took great pleasure in the scuff mark he left there. "I'm usually out on jobs or camped out in some rat hole or another. I usually just come here whenever I need to pick up some stuff. But, now that you're here, I'll be staying too." He left unsaid that this ostentatious apartment was perfect for Peter in that it was likely the last place that SHIELD and Oscorp would look for a runaway with no job prospects.

Peter nodded. "I hope I'll have my own lockable room though. In between your payment-sessions I'll need a break from nicknames and attempted sneak cuddles."

The truth was that he just wouldn't be able to stand Wade all day long. The merc was an exhausting person, especially since he was so clingy, affectionate, and attention-seeking. Peter was an only-child and had never really had any friends. He was used to spending his time alone - especially now, since Uncle Ben and Aunt May were gone and he was on his own - so people being around him for too long was something he couldn't cope with. Not to mention, even for people who loved company, Wade was a challenge.

Wade smacked his own chest and inhaled dramatically. "Sneak cuddles? Me? I would never take advantage of our agreement like that!" Well, he would try his best, at least. Though the circumstances weren't exactly fortuitous, having Peter so close was everything that Wade could have ever dreamed of. The last thing he wanted to do was run him off.

"Anyways, this is the 'pimp pad'," he said, gesturing grandiosely at the massive, oblong master bedroom. The room was tastefully decorated in a neutral color scheme, complemented by walls textured with vertical striations and a handful of minimalist paintings. A proportionately large bed consumed one side of the room, facing yet another wall of glass windows that opened onto a small, private balcony. Every surface appeared sterile and contained no traces of the man who lived there.

"You can have this room. I'll just clear out the closets and toss my crap into one of the spares," he explained, still beaming. At this rate, he would have to tailor his mask to accommodate for the stretch of his permanent smile.

Peter frowned. The room was impressive. A few years ago he would have let out a muffled scream while gesturing at pretty much everything and would maybe have smooched Wade's cheek before throwing himself on top of that kingsized bed.

Now, however, he was rather more worried than cheered.

"Where will this spare be?" he wanted to know. "Don't get me wrong, I won't mind having my privacy. But if someone climbs in from this really huge and inviting balcony, will you even hear it when I scream or when there's a struggle in here? Cause there's no point in me hiring you to protect me if it would take 10 minutes for you to even arrive here because you sleep at the other end of this country-covering monster of a flat."

"Awww, Kitten Pickles, I have full faith in your ability to turn that poor, sneaking bastard into a sidewalk pancake," Deadpool drawled with a roll of his eyes. Peter may have hired him for protection, but the kid was far from helpless. "So, what you must really be asking is: 'how far do I have to go in order to creep into Wade's bedroom and explore my somnophilia kink.' To which the answer is, right through here," he continued, motioning down a short corridor containing closets and the entryway to a master bathroom.

Peter rolled his eyes again and huffed.

"If I'm supposed to take care of them myself, then where's the point in even hiring you? I thought I could get rid of _you_ , yet here you are. You never know what can happen. That's why I'm here, remember? So you will protect me. Not because I yearn for your presence each minute of the day."

That brought Wade up short.

"Okay, one, I know that's not true. No one can resist this animal magnetism," he began lightly, then lost all hint of teasing lilt in his voice as he continued. "And two, as much as I fuck around, your health and well-being are priority numero uno. Anyone that tries to so much as lay a finger on that fluffy-ass head is going to have me wearing their guts for garters," he finished with a snarl. Taking a deep breath to compose himself, Deadpool forcibly reminded his broad shoulders to relax. The smile returned soon after.

"And I tell you what, Baby Boy, I can pull off a mean set of stockings."

"I don't doubt that," Peter admitted and finally put his boxes down. "Still I'm not convinced that you residing 'right through there' is going to keep me any safer than I already was without you."

It wasn't like he wanted Wade glued to his side. Really not. But they had made an agreement and Peter wasn't willing to offer the merc an unlimited amount of sex if Wade wouldn't do anything for it. Sure, the luxury of the penthouse was awesome, but that wasn't what he was here for. He was here because he trusted Wade to keep him safe. And for that Peter wanted the other to be within hearing range.

"I... honestly don't know what you're getting at," Wade responded, entirely at a loss. He studied the worn edges of Peters cardboard boxes and shifted his weight, restless. "I mean, at the hotel you said that you wouldn't sleep in the same bed, and that's cool. I'm a pretty affectionate sleeper and I wouldn't want to crush you with all of this man-meat."

At that, he raised his arms and flexed his biceps with an obviously forced bark of laughter. At Peter's blank expression, he bonelessly let them fall and slap against his sides.

"But you pretty much just said that you wanted a door lock because, while I need to be within earshot, you don't want me around too much. Which, believe me, I get. I just don't know what you want me to do," he finished, sighing. "I guess I could just camp out in the library?"

The blinding joy at having Peter so close was beginning to wilt at the edges from the obscurity of the kid's expectations.

Peter sighed and looked up at the ceiling in defeat.

"Don't you have bedrooms that are closer together than what you're offering me here? Next door to each other or something? I just want to be sure that you are close enough to be of use."

"Oh!" Wade responded, perking back up immediately. "Yeah, of course! Jarvis already has one foot in the grave. Watching us do the walk of shame would probably shove him in the rest of the way. Good thinking, Petey-pie!" He clapped his hands and made to help Peter retrieve his boxes.

Peter frowned and stepped in the way of Wade and his belongings, though. Those were his. Nobody would touch his stuff.

"I thought Jarvis was Stark's AI," he said as he picked up the boxes once more. "Please tell me he's not watching us through some weird-ass kink-cameras you've installed everywhere. I don't wanna end up on Avenger's Entertainment Channel For Adults."

Wade managed to stop his momentum abruptly with only a minor stumble to avoid jostling Peter.

Goddamn, the kid moved quickly.

"You're a genius! But we'll have to work on the name... something with more alliteration. 'Secret Super Sexcadaes' or 'Covert Cock Camera,' or something. I'll work on it," he pondered as he rubbed his chin, deep in thought. "Anyhoo, Jarvis is my old, wrinkly ass butler. Speaking of, where the fuck is Jarv?" he asked the empty corridor behind him. "All the money in the world apparently can't buy you good help. JARVIS! Get your old codger ass over here and do some real work!"

"Jesus, I can carry these," Peter shook his head. "This guy is already punished enough by having to work for you."

He rubbed his cheek against his shoulder because it was itching and then turned around to face the door.

"This way?"

"Yeah, just follow the bouncing buncheechees," Wade said, emphasizing his words by grabbing his buttocks. With a sly grin, he hurried to slip around Peter and lead the way. The master bedroom was, quite frankly, the most defensible room in the apartment. Too, the balcony served just as much as an escape route as it did an entry point for a super who could stick to walls. But, if Peter felt safer being in closer proximity to the merc, who was he to argue?

No one. Peter's paranoia couldn't be argued or even reasoned with. Having an immortal combatant who was in love right next to him felt far more reliable than windows and balconies. There was never a guarantee for an escape, but that Wade would slay any enemy that dared to touch Peter was something the teen was very certain of.

He followed Deadpool with the boxes on his arms, looking around a bit more. It would take a while to get used to his new home. Especially since it was huge as fuck and apparently had like 20 different rooms.

Deadpool rounded the corner with a jaunty little spin and kicked in the door closest to him. Once more, he took great pleasure in the scuff mark he left behind. "You can have this room," he proclaimed with a grand, sweeping gesture. The bedroom that he indicated was more modest in size, though still far larger than most full-sized flats in New York. It was furnished similarly to the master bedroom and boasted its own private bathroom. "I'll be right next door, well within screaming distance. But you know, that perk goes both ways," he said with a lewd wink.

"I've already heard you scream, I can take it," Peter assured and squeezed past Wade to have a look at his new room. No balcony. Just a window. Good. Typical people couldn't block a window that high up with no balcony or fire ladder right in front of it. Typical people couldn't stick to walls like Peter could. He liked that much better.

Nodding contently, he put his boxes down and wiped his hands on his jeans over his ass.

"Settled," he stated. "I'll take this one."

The smooth confidence with which he staked his claim made Wade's mouth water. The merc cleared his throat noisily and backpedaled out into the hall, still eyeing where Peter's hands lingered on his best assets.

"So, do you want a tour of the rest of the place, or should I give you a while to settle in first?" Wade asked as he plucked at an invisible thread on his sleeve. He didn't want to push his luck with Peter. Not when everything had so miraculously swung in his favor.

"I'll take the tour," Peter decided and turned towards Wade. "But nobody touches my stuff while we go at it, so tell your butler to keep his paws off the boxes."

He stepped out of the room and closed the door to symbolize that this was his private place now. Which, he was sure, especially Wade needed to be reminded of whenever possible.

Wade lifted a brow. "Baby Boy, I'm going to be touching all of your stuff while we go at it," he teased, rolling his hips once.

"Hold your horses until I've seen all of the stable," Peter slowed him down. "Then you can take me on and against any surface, if you want."

He already felt safer in this place than in his old flat, but he still wanted to know every room, every hallway, every corner. You never knew where you might need to hide or from where you needed to escape should something happen. Peter wouldn't rest easy until he was certain that he could use every bit of this apartment to his advantage if necessary.

"Oooo…today's theme is barnyard puns. Me likey!" Laughing good-naturedly, Wade flounced off down the hall and began pointing out rooms as he skipped past. "My room, wet bar, closet, ammo room, closet, closet, closet, sex dungeon," he rattled off as he went.

"Whoa, whoa, stop galloping, cowboy." Peter grabbed Wade's arm to keep him from rushing. "I know you want to get the race started, but I want a full tour, including a show of every room. Not just a quick walk through the hallways with descriptions being thrown at me. I want to know this place in and out. This half-hearted quickie you're giving me here will only earn you a half-hearted quickie from me in return."

"Damn, shot through the heart! You give love a bad name, kid," Wade moaned, feigning injury. It was nice to be back on good terms with Peter. He couldn't help but to revel in the warmth of Peter's attentions and take pleasure in the firm grasp on his wrist. It was a rare moment when Peter initiated physical contact outside of sex and tossing people off of high-rises.

The merc dropped down onto one knee, back to Peter, and glanced over his shoulder. "Alright then, saddle-up, Petey-pie," he ordered playfully, patting his own shoulders with his free hand as an indication to climb onboard the Deadpool Express.

The underlying meaning in Peter's request for a room-by-room tour wasn't lost on the mercenary. But that didn't mean the escort couldn't have fun scoping out his new place.

"Thank you, but I'm not a kid anymore," Peter declined the offer. "I can walk on my own. I will ride a different body part of you later."

As huge of a step as moving in with Wade and trusting him with his life had been, Peter still wasn't able (and willing) to let all restraints go. Fooling around like this wasn't on the menu yet.

With a dejected sigh, Deadpool flung himself to the floor, one arm still upraised in Peter's steel trap of a grasp. "No one can save me, the damage is done," he groaned pitifully. Bon Jovi knew what was up.

Peter rolled his eyes for the third time today and gave Wade a relatively soft kick.

"Stop whining. You know that injured horses get shot. The faster you show me around, the sooner you will get your sex. So come on now."

Truthfully, Wade would have gladly forgone the sweaty rodeo in exchange for a handful of minutes of playful affection. But that apparently wasn't part of the agreement.

"I'm not going to make it, Peter. Go on without me," he whispered dramatically from the floor.

"I didn't hire you to die on the first day," Peter sighed. "What do I have to do to get this over with as quickly as possible? And don't say mouth to mouth, that's not gonna happen."

"Nope, it's the only way," Wade bemoaned his plight as he rolled over onto his back, wrist still in Peter's hand. "There's a tunnel, Peter. The lights are so beautiful."

"Alright, then die," Peter shrugged. "You will come back."

For a moment he wondered whether Wade's brain was regenerating constantly as well. That would explain why he behaved like a child so often.

"This time it's for real, Shnookums. You're on your own from here on out. I wish we could have made more memories together. But, as a consolation prize, if you wait half an hour I'll be stiff all over." And, with those parting words, Wade went limp.

Peter groaned and let go of Wade's wrist.

"Alright. Since you seem to refuse, I'll let Jarvis show me around. You know where to find me."

He stepped over 'the corpse' and made his way down the hall.

Peter's tantalizing warmth still lingered on Wade's wrist. They had been a hairsbreadth from holding hands. Deadpool smiled hugely and flipped to his feet with ease. He used his momentum to continue the motion and rebounded off of the walls to somersault over Peter's head and land heavily a couple of feet in front of him.

"There will be no geriatric cock-blocking in this house, thank you very much," he stated pleasantly before proceeding to continue the tour as if nothing had happened.

Looking up at the ceiling once again, Peter questioned his sanity for an instant before he went after Wade. This was only the first day. The first _hour,_ even. How was he supposed to survive this?

"So, this will be my room and it comes with a complimentary open-door policy for any and all nubile young men with super strength and a rockin' ass on the premises," he explained, glancing back with an exaggerated wink.

The bedroom was an exact replica of Peter's own, but mirrored. The closet door remained propped open from the massive landslide of rifles and tactical equipment that was too substantial to remain contained in the space. Something that looked suspiciously like a rocket launcher poked out of the pile half-way down.

"Uh-huh," Peter grunted, eyeing the heap with a certain amount of resignation. "But I hope you realize that my services are your payment. I won't make use of your open door unless you ask me to."

Wade's cheery mood deflated partially, but he made a point of carrying on with the tour. He idly wondered if Peter knew exactly how much of a kick in the balls those snide little comments were.

"Sure. Um, this apartment is your home now, so you can go anywhere you wish, except the West Wing," he said, pointing to a closed door right next to the aperture of his own room.

Peter looked over at the door and nodded. "Okay, I won't touch it," he promised.

He noticed that Wade sounded a little different after his last comment. A part of him felt victorious to have made Wade remember once more that Peter was not his boyfriend. Another part of him though felt a bit sorry.

Wade was a pain in the ass (not literally, though), he was annoying and clingy and didn't know how to respect personal space. But he was a good guy somehow. Peter felt safe around him, the safest he had ever felt since the incident with Oscorp. He knew Wade would protect him, no matter what.

But at the same time Peter was reluctant to let their relationship become anything beyond that. That he had allowed himself to confide in Wade and let him be his guardian was already much more than the merc seemed to comprehend. And much more than Peter was willing to admit.

Wade spun in place as he exclaimed "It's forbidden!"

He then paused, realizing that Peter hadn't inquired about it any further in the first place.

"Damn it, kid, you ruined the moment. Ah well, this is actually just my munitions room. I would advise against going in there unless you want to come out more swiss cheese than man," he explained as he opened the door and showcased a large space filled with crates and loose ammunition. Though he rallied from the prior jibe admirably, his voice still held a note of despondency.

It didn't go unnoticed by Peter.

"You know, I always thought the beast was more handsome than the actual prince," the young man said in an attempt to comfort Wade a bit. Maybe he should go a little easy on the guy. After all he had erased Peter's files and had given him the space and time Peter had needed to cope with it. And it wasn't Wade's fault that apparently he fell in love far too easily. Being a tiny bit nicer to him probably wouldn't hurt. Especially since they would spend an awful lot of time together from now on.

Wade shook his head at the beautiful lie and chose to ignore it.

"Anyways, the kitchen is just through here. That's where the magic happens! And by 'magic' I mean tacos," he responded, setting off down a long hallway. He didn't point out any of the attached closets or small specialty nooks, figuring that Peter would do a more extensive reconnaissance later on.

The teen suppressed a sigh at the obvious refusal of his compliment and had a peek into the kitchen instead.

"Surely we'll eat other things than just tacos?" he asked. Dang, this kitchen was _huge!_ Aunt May would have loved it.

"There are pancakes too if you're feeling adventurous," Wade stated with a chuckle as he stepped past Peter.

The kitchen was every bit as lavish as the rest of the penthouse, boasting luxurious granite countertops and a sprawling floor plan. A note fluttered on the counter in Wade's wake as he swept into the room. He casually scanned it and set it back on the counter.

"Well, it looks like we're on our own for the next few days, Snickerdoodle. Jarv had a death in the family that was surprisingly not his own," he said, shaking his head. He made a mental note to send flowers and a check.

"Well, hey, while we're here, are you hungry?"

"Oh," Peter commented, feeling his own guts turn into a knot. He knew how that felt. He was the only member of his family left.

"Uhm. Yeah, I think I could use a bite."

Opening the fridge, Wade bent at the waist and stuck his head and shoulders into the billowing cloud of cold air as it rushed out. "What are you in the mood for? I've got the stuff for tacos, fajitas, quesadillas, enchiladas, burritos, taquitos, chimichangas," he listed off in rapid succession. "And there's boring shit like sandwiches."

"You seem to be into Mexican food," Peter stated and leant against the doorframe with his arms crossed in front of his chest. It was a mechanical, self-protective response.

"I don't mind. Don't trouble with anything, though. I can make myself a sandwich, you don't have to cook for me."

Deadpool continued with his typical bluster. "Sandwiches are an affront to bread. You haven't lived until you've had my tacos. These babies are like a warm hug for your GI tract," he said, placing a large armful of ingredients on the counter. "And before you say anything, no, that does not count towards my contractually obligated hugs. Nice try." He grinned and whipped out an apron from a nearby drawer.

"Damn, there go my chances," Peter sighed dramatically. He wasn't sure whether he should be surprised that Wade could cook. Probably not. He wouldn't put anything past Deadpool.

"Can I help you somehow?" he offered. He couldn't cook himself, but he had sometimes helped Aunt May out in the kitchen. Though that had always ended up in friendly family-banter and often enough she had thrown him out of her cooking territory in the end.

In contrast, Wade had always cooked alone with the exception of the occasional 'guys night' with Barton. Family was a four-letter word growing up and his life following that clusterfuck had never actually afforded him the comfort of anyone who would stay long enough.

Wade fidgeted with his frilly, yellow apron.

"Yeah, that would be nice. Could you scoop out a handful and press them flat?" he asked as he slid a bowl of rested corn-tortilla dough and a tortilla press across the island toward Peter.

"Sure," Peter nodded and pushed off the wall to make his way over to the island. "I must warn you though that I've never done this before, so don't blame me if anything goes wrong."

He washed his hands first before he grabbed the bowl. Aunt May had always scolded him when he hadn't done that, so it was basically ingrained in him by now.

"How much do I have to use for one?"

"That's alright, Baby Boy, I'll go nice and gentle with you for your first time," Wade crooned in return. "First, you just have to slide those sexy fingers in and take a palm-full. Make sure that you knead it gently, you know, get it nice and warmed up first."

He chuckled and shyly removed his gloves, trying to angle his body such that his bare hands were obscured by the small pile of ingredients while he in-turn chopped onions. It was one thing for Peter the Escort to have seen glimpses of his hands while getting railed in the low light of a hotel room, but, oddly enough, this context was so much more intimate.

"Oh yes, talk dirty to me," Peter hummed and grabbed a palm-full of batter. He carefully pressed his fingers against it to test the consistency. Then he began to knead it a little.

"You're not from Mexico or something or have some relatives there, do you? I remember something about Canada, if I'm not completely mistaken," he tried to small-talk. It would be more awkward to just remain silent, so he could at least try to take the more comfortable route. It still felt pretty clumsy to him, though.

Wade's genuine, baritone laugh filled the quiet recesses of the kitchen. "You don't necessarily have to be from a place to appreciate their culture, or their food items," he responded as he made short work of the onion and the jalapeños that followed. "Though, maple syrup will always be my first love." He sighed wistfully. Wiping his hands absently on a clean dish towel, he tossed his diced goodies into a large mixing bowl along with a familiar retinue of spices and a generous amount of ground beef.

"Of course not, but I thought I could ask," Peter shrugged and put the batter in the tortilla press. "Hell, if we all had the nationality of the food we like, we would all be Italians."

He eyed the press for a moment and curled his lips. Then he closed the lid and grabbed the handle. "Just like this?" he asked.

Glancing up, Deadpool couldn't fight his amusement at how timidly Peter was holding the press handle.

"That's right, now wreck it. Hold it down and just fucking _wreck_ that tortilla," he growled, breaking off abruptly into a laugh. He quickly stepped outside of immediate tortilla projectile range and readied the stove top with a couple of saucepans.

Peter growled lowly and pushed the handle down.

"I'm gonna wreck your neck, Mr. Chopping-the-Vegetables. I know how to do _that._ But who the hell presses their own tortillas…"

Wade washed his hands and waved them frantically to dry them.

"I'm going to need Neosporin after that sick burn," he taunted in a falsetto voice. "And learning new shit is good for you. Builds character. You break my press with all of that character building though and I'm going to demand five minutes of couch snuggling in repayment."

"You told me to wreck it!" Peter defended himself and immediately let go of the handle. He hated cooking! This had been a terrible idea!

The merc's explosive laughter filled the space between them, so much so that Wade collapsed to the floor and leaned against the counter. He tried to breathe, but every time he did, another wave of mirth rolled along and made his stomach clench tight.

Peter scowled at him, miffed.

"Stop laughing! Or I'll put your head in there next!" he threatened. He wasn't really angry at Wade though. It was more the kind of hurt pride that a kid shows towards its teasing parent.

Finally coming down from his last bout of unattractive guffaws, Wade pulled himself off of the floor and shook his head. Where had Peter been all of his life? "As much I would so go for a bit of rough manhandling, you better get your head back in the game. We need more than one tortilla unless you want to share it and meet in the middle."

The escort grumbled and pulled the handle back. "How about _you_ do this and _I_ chop, if you're so great at this."

"No can do, Baby Boy. We've got to work to our strengths. I manage the pointies," Wade began, holding up the knife, then using it to point at the press handle, "you work the shaft."

"One more word and I'll break the shaft in half," Peter announced as he opened the lid. "Now where should I put this absolutely stunning tortilla I just made? And I warn you, if you reply with something stupid, I'm gonna throw it at you."

Wade made a zipping motion across his lips and took the tortilla reverently onto his spread fingers. He set the meat to cook in a saucepan, one-handed, and gently let the tortilla float in the pan of oil immediately adjacent. The pop and crackle of oil and the lingering warmth of laughter felt like home. Or, at least, what he imagined home would feel like.

After a moment, he flipped and folded the bit of corn dough into a perfect taco shell. With a self-satisfied "ta-da!" he held it up on a plate for Peter's approval.

The boy looked up from the tortilla he was currently pressing and gave a short nod.

"Amazing," he praised. "This is what Mexican dreams are made of."

"Yeah, that and liquid shits," Wade retorted as he turned back to the stove. "You got anymore coming?"

He finished sautéing the meat and busied himself with pulling down serving dishes.

"Yeah, actually," Peter confirmed. "How many should I make?"

He placed the one he had just pressed beside the other one he had finished a bit earlier and reached out for the bowl once more.

"However many you want," Wade replied with a soft smile. The kitchen smelled godly.

Peter nodded. "Okay. And how many for you?"

The merc fidgeted uncomfortably and quickly busied himself with the pan of oil. "Nah, Peter, don't worry about me. I'll eat later, while you're settling in and stuff," he tossed over his shoulder. It would be pretty shitty of him to ruin his guest's appetite.

"What?" Peter looked up from the tortilla press in bewilderment. "This is nonsense. I didn't know this was just meant for me, or I would have just taken the sandwiches. There's no need for us to cook just for me. I'm just getting the hang of this stupid press, I can make some more of those flat little bastards."

Wade filled and plated the remaining taco shells, offering the plate to Peter.

"I really don't think that's a good idea. This sure as shit doesn't get any prettier the further up you go," he muttered, rubbing his hands self-consciously. "You're my guest and my employer. I told you that I would take care of your needs and that's what I'm damn well going to do. Part of that is to protect you from having any more nightmares about the monsters that go bump in the night. I may as well start with this one." Taking a deep breath, he pushed forward several small bowls filled with toppings. "Dig in," he ordered simply.

Peter narrowed his eyes and studied Wade's masked face.

"Are you kidding me right now?" he asked, causing Wade's head to snap up. "You really wanna play this game with me? I thought I already made it clear that I don't care about your skin. Do you want to hide away from me forever? Keep your clothes on every time we have sex? Never eat in the same room with me? Never fuck in one of the giant bathtubs or jacuzzis or swimming pools you undoubtedly have? I've seen worse things than some bad skin, believe me. I stood in the blood of my foster parents, I broke someone's neck and looked at the corpse that I had just killed myself. _Those_ are the things that haunt me in my nightmares. Not someone who happens to have weird skin. If you have issues with yourself, fine. I'm not going to force you to show me your face if you don't want it. But stop pretending you do that because of me and my well-being. Because I don't give a damn fuck about it. You're only protecting yourself here, so admit that and stop putting it all on me."

Wade stood stock still, reeling from Peter's words. Long moments passed while he stared at the escort, then finally looked away. Silently, he slid the press over and went about preparing his own meal. As he worked at the stovetop, he accidently seared off the tips of his fingers in the boiling oil. Though, the pain was inconsequential and the wounds closed quickly enough, unlike the gaping hole in his chest.

What Peter didn't realize was that the neoplasms in his skin weren't just superficial. The cancer that was his fucking life had torn so many holes through him that he had stopped resembling anything close to human a long time ago. Removing his mask meant exposing not just his skin, but the weakness and the emotional necrosis beneath.

Food completely plated, he listlessly motioned for Peter to have a seat at the high-topped breakfast bar. Wade rolled his mask up to the bridge of his nose and kept his gaze trained on the plate before him. "Sorry," he stated to the pile of meat and corn shell.

In the time that it had taken Wade to prepare his own food, Peter had calmed down a little. As he climbed onto the chair, he even felt a bit guilty.

"No need to be sorry," he said calmly, pulling his plate over to himself. "I know how it feels to have your demons chasing you and to project them on everyone around you. I mean, I don't let anybody touch me affectionately because I can't stand the intimacy, and I threw you off a building because I thought you were chasing me. Sometimes the things around us are stronger than we are and they make us see ghosts. And sometimes it's hard to defeat them. Who am I to tell you what to do when I can't even fight my own demons."

He looked up to study the lower part of Wade's face and tilted his head a little. Scars and sores in various stages of healing pitted his skin, creating a pocked surface reminiscent of the moon. It was fascinating, actually.

"But I swear to all the terrible innuendos and to all the Mexican food in this world that I don't mind your skin," Peter went on. "You are safe with me, just as I am with you. Make of that what you want."

Wade nudged him companionably with his elbow. "That was pretty deep, Baby Boy," he stated, the ghost of a smile making his lips twitch despite the tears trapped beneath his mask. "But not as deep as I'm going to be tonight." He quickly took a bite of taco to hide his grin. What had he done to deserve this beautiful man in his life?

"Aaaaand there we go," Peter groaned, throwing his arms towards the ceiling. "Wade Wilson scores again. The game is over, Ladies and Gentlemen, Deadpool just made a home run."

He grabbed one of his own tacos and filled it with cheese and pico de gallo from the bowls Wade had put in front of him. He didn't admit it to himself, but it actually felt good to have someone he could talk about this with. Wade knew how this kind of pain felt, the kind that was settled so deep within you that it was absolutely impossible to remove and that no regular person could possibly even imagine. They were both completely broken, but apparently their edges fit together. And maybe it was possible that, by being put together, they could fix each other a little.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Hunger pangs satisfied and mask resettled, Wade led Peter through the den and dining room, finally making it to the living room and all but collapsing on a couch.

This was the only room in the whole of the apartment that actually appeared to have been lived in. The furniture was worn and some cushions were visibly more sunken than others. It spoke of long hours spent in companionable company with the large television and gaming systems situated in front of the sofa sectional.

"I think I'm dying," Wade groaned as he clutched his stomach and did his best to take up half of the couch.

"Again?" Peter asked. "You're dying a lot today."

He sounded a bit distant, because admittedly he was distracted by the gaming consoles right in front of him. He used to love playing video games. Ever since he didn't have a system anymore, he played stuff on his computer. The urge to finally hold a controller again and smash its buttons made his fingers twitchy.

"I'm well under my quota, actually," Wade remarked casually. He took note of Peter's interest in the consoles and playfully nudged the teen's thigh with his boot. "Wanna play?"

Peter turned his head and looked at Wade with an excited sparkle in his eyes.

"Are you kidding? I haven't played in over a year! I'm completely starved!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, it's on like fucking Donkey Kong. Just remember that you asked for this when I completely own your ass," Wade stated as he sat up and gripped the edge of the cushion tightly.

"Ha!" Peter said. His entire body language switched to thrilled excitement. "I will kick your ass over to New Jersey! I have spider reflexes! Your sorry sausage-grabbies don't stand a chance!"

"Spider reflexes? No fuckin' way. You're super-hero name is Fly-man! I've already got the first costume design drafted and preliminary ownership rights with Marvel. Now sit your Musca domestica ass down and prepare for a whooping," Wade crowed in delight. He rolled across the plush area rug and plopped down in front of the console array. "Alright, pick your poison, Baby Boy!"

Peter grinned widely (and meanly) and slid off the sofa to settle beside Wade, his legs crossed.

"This time you're gonna die for real," he announced while cracking his knuckles. "You have Mario Kart?"

Wade scoffed. "Do I have Mario Kart?" he drawled as he plucked the game out of its place of honor amidst the rest of the cartridges and discs. He made as if to hand it to Peter, then took it back swiftly. "Now, before we do this, there are some ground rules."

"I will not kiss you if you win," Peter made clear right away. "Also I will not play with Bowser, Donkey Kong or that goddamn ugly, annoying mushroom-shit. Other than that we can find an agreement."

With a huff of laughter, Wade tossed the disc at Peter and rooted through a mess of controllers to find two Wii steering wheel remotes. "Rule number one," he began, raising a single gloveless finger. "From now until the end of time, I am Princess Peach. There will be no whining, moaning, or groaning. I am the one, true princess. Rule number two…" The merc paused and rubbed his chin. "Actually, I guess that's it."

"Aaaw, and here I thought you wanted to establish Strip-Mario Kart or something," Peter pouted. "But no worries, I'm more of the Yoshi-type, anyway. I like dinosaurs that are addicted to cookies more than princesses that are named after fruit."

Deadpool eyed him sidelong, then shook his head. "That's not what you were saying a couple of days ago. Anyways, eyes on the prize, kid. Winning this battle is a true testament of a challenger's gaming prowess. Your distractionary tactics won't work this time," he stated, reaching past Peter to press the power button.

Peter grinned again and let his teeth run over his lower lip. "I won't need any distraction tactics," he claimed, confident of his victory. "I will turn your precious princess into roadkill within the first round."

Five rounds later, Wade took yet another sprinting victory lap around the living room. "In your face!" he exclaimed as he threw himself bodily to the floor next to his remote.

"You are cheating!" Peter complained and threw a cushion at Wade. "I don't know how to play with those stupid wheels! With a normal controller, I would beat your ass!"

Expression suddenly blank, Deadpool grabbed Peter's wheel, popped out the remote, and leaned in so close that their noses nearly touched. "Prove it," he challenged with a growl as he shoved the remote into Peter's chest.

Peter went "mph" and grabbed the device. Then his face turned into a grimace of playful rivalry. "Oh, I freaking will. Just bring it."

"It's already been brought," Wade sing-songed and shoved Peter's shoulder good-humoredly. The next race, and Peter's fate, would be determined on Rainbow Road.

Peter grabbed the controller tightly. He had been quite good back in the days, but the truth was that Wade was better. Peter's spider-powers didn't help him at all here, because his special sense didn't work on the game and didn't warn him of anything. His fast reflexes surely were an advantage, but at the same time he reacted too hasty and too violently which caused him to crash his kart a lot. He didn't want to admit it, but Wade was clearly kicking his ass.

As he realized that even with a regular remote he wouldn't be able to beat Wade, he decided to change his technique. He couldn't lose this round now. He had boasted about his own skills too much to let Wade own his butt.

Forced to go to extremes, Peter unfolded his leg and and placed it over Wade's lap, pushing the merc's hands aside with his knee. His underhanded strategy didn't go unnoticed.

Wade held his remote aloft, never breaking his line of sight with Peach's bobbing, blonde head.

"I don't think so," he stated as he proceeded to kick Yoshi's ass.

"What?" Peter asked innocently. "I don't know what you mean."

He scooted forward a bit until his ass was on in line with Wade's crotch and then heaved himself off the ground to shove his buttocks onto Wade's thigh, which also resulted in his upper body colliding with Wade's arm.

Princess Peach's kart faltered and slammed into an entirely avoidable banana peel. "Goddamnit, you sneaky, underhanded…" Wade trailed off with a grumble. The inability to turn his wheel properly because of Peter's presence on his thigh sent Wade careening off of the side of the track. "Son of a biscuit eater," he yelled, flustered. There was no way in hell that he was allowing that saurian little shit to win on the climax of the Special Cup.

Wade jostled his thigh so that Peter's bottom slipped into the center of his crossed legs and placed the kid within the loop of his arms. With any luck, Wade's biceps would block his view.

'No intimacy' rule be damned, this was war.

Peter grinned widely at the success of having landed in Wade's lap without even having to try and get there by himself. From here it would be so easy to distract the merc enough. Of course without losing his focus on the little green dinosaur in his kart.

"I love it when you call me names," he moaned and pressed his ass against Wade's groin hard. "Do that again, Wade. Whisper them right in my ear!"

At the sound of Peter's sultry voice forming the singular syllable of his name, Wade's brain short-circuited. Miraculously, he managed to dodge an exploding turtle shell, but then spun out when he involuntarily ground his hips up into the sinfully tight buttocks perched in his lap. "This is really unfair, you little shit," he ground out.

"Oh, but I can't help it," Peter panted in exaggerated lust. "You just turn me on too much."

He rolled his hips backwards as well as his current position allowed him to.

"I just need you so badly right now. It's not my fault."

Wade's guttural groan reverberated through his chest. As he continued to steer one-handed, he quickly pushed his mask up over his nose and pressed Peter's hips down, grinding up once more. Princess Peach went flying off of the track again, but winning the race was quickly losing significance. "Keep this up and I am going to wreck you. And I ain't talking about the game," he whispered into Peter's neck. His tongue swept along the shell of the escort's ear until he finally placed his lips around the lobe and scraped it with his teeth.

Peter shuddered from the hot, wet trail that Wade's tongue left as it quickly cooled off when the tongue moved on. As Wade bit him softly, he winced a little.

"I want to roll all over this expensive carpet with you," he replied with a hoarse voice. "So that it will have to be removed once we are done."

Peter may have been putting on a show before, but there was no mistaking that sudden tinge of arousal in his voice. Wade's stomach clenched as he slowly began to rock his rapidly swelling erection against the material of Peter's jeans. The additional confines of his own suit restricted his cock, but the pain was just enough for him to still maintain his lead in the race.

He and Peter were still neck and neck.

Peter bit his lip to keep his head in the game as Wade began to move his hips. He couldn't get distracted now. He wanted to distract Wade, not the other way around!

"I want you to bury your thick cock in me," he whispered as he released his lightning-weapon that made everyone but his Yoshi shrink. "And then fuck me hard and fast til I scream your name."

The need to dominate his opponent warred with Wade's instinct to forgo the stupid game and give Peter everything that he asked for. Despite the awkward position, the merc managed to unfasten Peter's jeans with one hand and trace his fingertips teasingly beneath the waistband of the escort's boxers. His fingers brushed against the hot, pre-come slick head of Peter's cock where it sat nestled tightly against his stomach.

"You'll have to be more specific than that, Baby Boy," he stated, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking off the bitter taste with a pop. With a flick of his other hand, he managed to veer Peach back on course once she regained her normal size.

Yoshi on the other hand had lost his head start because Peter had steered him off the road once Wade had touched the sensitive head of his erection. Now the panting wasn't acted anymore.

"I want you to rip off my clothes," he brought out, clutching the controller like it was going to save him from his distracting arousal. "And then to bend me over and fuck me like there's no tomorrow. The couch, the armchair, the table. Everywhere. Just make me come so hard that I forget my own name."

Wade sucked at the juncture of Peter's neck and slid his palm up his ward's trembling stomach, pinching a nipple hard enough to make it peak.

"More specific," he whispered.

Peter moaned and jumped from the sensation. He almost missed the mystery box right in front of Yoshi, but managed to pull the kart around in the last second.

"I want you to work me open with your tongue," he fantasized. "And your big, long fingers. Until I'm a writhing mess that can't stand it any longer. And then I want you to shove your throbbing cock inside of my ass, so deep that I see stars. I want you to pin me down and use me until I can't take it anymore, with your fist wrapped around my dick. And then I want you to spill inside of me, filling me up. That's what I want, Deadpool."

With a monumental effort, Wade managed to hang on to the last shreds of his self-restraint. "Sounds good and all, but you used the wrong name, Sweet Cheeks."

Biting down firmly, but gentle enough not to bruise, he slipped his hand down into the warm recesses of Peter's pants and engulfed the escort's dick. The noises he was rewarded with were well worth being hit head-on by a guided turtle shell.

Somehow Peter managed to concentrate enough to both steer Yoshi and say the words he wanted to say. It was really hard though and if this race wouldn't be over soon, he wasn't going to make it.

"Wade," he whispered huskily. "That's what I want, Wade."

Fuck Mario Kart.

Deadpool tossed his remote to the ground and wrapped one muscular arm around Peter's waist, lifting him sufficiently to shuck his jeans and boxers down to his knees. The kid weighed next to nothing; it was amazing how strong that deceptively lithe physique could be.

Peter helped to struggle his pants down and then leaned heavily against Wade's muscular chest. His breathing was fast and uneven and the touch of Wade's mouth left goosebumps on his arms.

On the screen, Yoshi took a victory lap, but the merc couldn't care any less. Peter's dick was humid and pulsing in his hand and the taste of salted skin was heavy on his tongue.

The controller slid out of Peter's hands, giving a low thud on the carpet. The war on the screen was over. They would have a different, far more pleasing battle now and the excitement for it made him quiver.

Wade stroked the cock in his hand with long, firm pulls. "Looks like you beat me at my own game," he observed with affected calm. "I suppose I should give you your prize, hmm?" At that, he flexed and rotated his torso such that he was able to pin Peter on his back against the soft rug.

The teen looked up at him with clouded eyes, his eyelids fluttering.

"Yes," he whispered, his lips parted. "Give it to me… I want you to give it to me…"

The merc closed his eyes and struggled against the overwhelming urge to lean down and see if Peter's swollen lips were every bit as delicious as they looked. Instead, he supported himself on one arm and freed his trapped erection with the other. Arousal set off a firestorm in the pit of his stomach that somehow managed to consume the whole of his body until he was shaking with pent-up need.

Peter was so unbelievably beautiful beneath him. His shirt had ridden up to reveal the tight belly beneath, complemented by the lovely cock that jutted, tall and proud at the apex of his legs. Coupled with the rosy blush on his cheeks and the half-lidded eyes, Peter was the ultimate picture of wanton debauchery.

"You are so fuckin' perfect," Wade confessed.

Peter closed his lips and opened his eyes a little wider where arousal had already made his eyelids heavy.

He was used to people loving him because of his looks. He was also used to people loving him because of his skills. Some people even appreciated his personality and got along with him just fine. All of those people had been his clients and Peter had known that it was nothing more than business between them. But Wade… Wade was different.

Wade looked beyond Peter as an escort, he saw the person behind the job. Yes, sometimes clients got clingy because for some reason they thought Peter somehow belonged to them just because they had paid him. Or because they desperately wanted to be appreciated, no matter by whom.

But Wade was so genuine, so honest and pure about this that it caught Peter off guard. And somehow that frightened Peter. He had been able to fight off Wade's tries to romantically get to him before, because he had seen Wade as nothing more than another client. But that had changed. Wade was something different now. And saying something like "you are so fuckin' perfect" in that new state was something Peter didn't really know how to cope with.

"You already have me panting underneath you," he mumbled, trying to shove the insecurity aside. "No need to compliment me like that."

Wade grinned knowingly, but obliged nonetheless. He took Peter's shirt in both hands and pulled him up to hover a couple of inches from the floor. "Well, I guess I should start at the top of your list, hmm?" he asked, then flexed his arms and tore Peter's shirt in half like it was paper.

"Fuck!" Peter gasped and stared down at his bare chest in surprise and disbelief. He hadn't thought that Wade would take this literally.

"That's the plan, Baby Boy," the merc responded with a grin.

The rough treatment and casual demonstration of raw strength made Peter's cock twitch and his stomach contract. If he hadn't been turned on before - and damn, he had been - then he sure as hell was now!

With wide eyes and an open mouth he stared at Wade, lust making his eyes shine. This was going to get good.

Deadpool reared back and scooted down far enough to divest Peter of his pants, boxers, and shoes. Disrobing complete, he pulled Peter's thighs atop of his own and eased the kid upright with a supportive hand behind his shoulder blades. "Hold on tight," he whispered, raking his teeth along the line of Peter's clavicle.

Peter did as he was told and slung his arms around Wade's neck as well as wrapped his legs around the man's waist.

With a grunt at the delicious friction of Peter's crotch against his own, Wade walked over to the sofa and laid his cargo down gently. Peter's legs splayed so willingly that the merc could only groan his approval.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he stated as he dropped to his knees in front to the couch and laid a trail of searing kisses along the inside of Peter's thighs. Each of them made the kid shudder softly.

Only a few days ago he would have felt uncomfortable with the kisses. Maybe not to an amount that would have made him forbid them, but it would have made him a little uneasy. Now the only thing that made him uneasy was how good they felt on his hot skin.

"Right now it feels like _you_ are doing things to _me_ ," Peter muttered, feeling around for a cushion or blanket that he could sink his fingers into for support.

Wade's soft laughter sent puffs of humid air along Peter's already saliva-moist skin.

"Not yet, I'm not," he retorted. Admiring the flush of Peter's rock hard dick, Wade leaned forward and laved a stripe from Peter's perineum, over the soft skin of his balls, and finally up his shaft to his cock head. He made certain to take his time with it and enjoy each and every little twitch beneath him.

Peter placed his legs over Wade's shoulders so he could dig his heels into the other man's back and bring his lower body up. He wanted more. So much more. It was impossible to just lie still and wait for Deadpool to get going.

"Come on, you awful tease," he groaned lowly, trying to bring his cock up far enough to force Wade to take it into his mouth.

The merc took the hint and swirled his tongue around the flare of Peter's cock head, then sunk down all in one slow, smooth motion. There was no resistance at all as he completely sheathed the escort in his throat.

While Peter was preoccupied by the tight press of his rhythmic swallows, Wade reached over into the side-table drawer and retrieved one of the many bottles of lube that he had stashed around the apartment when he had prepared the place that morning.

Peter moaned and sighed as the hot wetness around his shaft began to grow tighter only to release again and then start the same procedure once more. He began to softly thrust his hips in rhythm with the contractions, laying his head back with his mouth opened in total bliss. The little sound of the table drawer almost went unnoticed.

With quick, perfunctory motions, Wade pulled out his own straining erection and began stroking himself in time with the adorably controlled little thrusts of Peter's hips. Heedless of the overwhelming flow of sensation from his own slick hand, he busied himself with sweeping his other thumb gently around the tight pucker of Peter's anus.

The new sensation made Peter shiver and breathe out a moan. The anticipation of being penetrated while still being seated deep in the hot cavern of Wade's mouth caused him to helplessly wriggle his hips in an attempt to thrust up and simultaneously meet Wade's finger.

Wade released his own cock in order to control Peter's writhing with a heavy hand and pulled back.

"I hope you're ready," he managed to choke out, a line of spittle still connecting his bottom lip to Peter's cock. Warning delivered, he unerringly pressed his index finger into Peter's body as far as it would go. He was certain that the kid would relish the slight ache, after all, his body took it so beautifully.

And he was right. Peter arched off the sofa with a loud moan and held himself upright like that on trembling arms for a moment while whispering "fuck…" in between gasps.

"More," he then demanded. "Give me more. I can take it. Come on…"

It only took two more lube-slick fingers and a litany of expletives to have Peter a nearly incoherent, sweaty mess beneath him. "Alright, Petey-pie," Deadpool began, tugging at the young man's upper arm, "let's get started on that fuck list of yours." He patted the arm rest of the sofa emphatically.

Peter obeyed all too willingly and sat up with a little grunt to crawl over to the armrest. He was so impatient that his arms and legs trembled while he did so. Reaching his destination, he pulled himself half on top of it so that he was comfortable enough and at the same time displayed his ass in the best way possible.

Looking back over his shoulder at the merc, he licked his lower lip and pushed his hips back even more.

"Take me," he ordered huskily.

Arousal kicked Wade hard in the gut. He swiftly dove forward and smoothed his palms over the graceful line of Peter's back, letting one hand rest on the back of his neck. "Down," he ordered, taking pleasure in the answering arch of Peter's spine.

He smiled slyly where Peter couldn't see it and brought his hand down on the glorious buttocks before him with a sharp crack. A warm blush kissed the pale stretch of skin.

Peter gave a surprised scream at the smack and then stared at the spot in front of him with wide eyes. A sudden fire had made his cheeks and ears flush and it startled him that a simple, hard slap like that aroused him so much. He was a bit shocked about his own hidden kinks.

"That okay?" Wade asked hoarsely, soothing the sting with his palm.

"Shit, yes," Peter answered, only now realizing that he had clawed at the side of the sofa so hard that his fingers were protesting. "Do that again while you fuck me…"

"Why wait?" the merc responded with a dark chuckle. He followed with another spank, powerful enough to rock Peter forward into the armrest and pin his bobbing erection against the plush fabric.

"Fuck!" Peter cried out, instinctively pressing his hands against the side of the couch to keep himself from falling, even though there was no actual threat that he would do so. "If you don't take my ass like it's for sale on Black Friday right _now_ , I will find a way to ultimately end you!"

In response, Wade delivered an even harder smack right over the darkest stain of blush from the previous spanks. Only then did he position himself behind Peter's tantalizing ass as it bucked futilely in the air. "I'm more of a Thanksgiving man, myself, Petey-pie. I particularly like the stuffing," he said huskily as he lined up his aching dick and pressed into the clutching channel of Peter's body with care.

The response Peter already had on his lips fell victim to a long, throaty moan at the feeling of being penetrated by Wade's thick, rugged cock. It stretched Peter's walls just to the right amount and it moved in just to the right depth. The stimulation that came from the uneven skin of Wade's shaft sent lightning bolts down Peter's spine and made him wriggle his hips again a little.

More. He needed more. This still wasn't enough.

Despite Peter's needy encouragement, Wade paused where he was sheathed in the strangle hold of Peter's ridiculously strong little ass. He reached down and tugged firmly on his own scrotum until the pressing need for release ebbed. Finally, once the looming tsunami of arousal had been mitigated, Wade latched onto the taper of Peter's waist and began a brutal rhythm of pistoning thrusts flavored by nothing even resembling restraint.

Wade sent up a litany of praise to the ceiling for the strength and endurance of the teen beneath him.

Said teen in return let out a never ending stream of screams, moans, curses and other sounds that proved that the harsh thrusting was exactly what he wanted. He was already close from the blowjob and the fingering (and not to forget the slapping) and now Wade's brutal ramming of his hips against Peter's that simultaneously moved the merc's dick in and out of him and Peter's own dick against the armrest set his entire body ablaze. Everything turned into a blur of passion, lust and ecstasy and he felt reduced to screaming out the pleasure he was overloaded with.

Wade experimentally canted his hips until each thrust brought about that particular strangled scream that indicated the perfect angle.

Soon Peter's body went numb and the fire gathered in his groin, building up an incredible pressure that just wanted to erupt.

"I'm coming!" he let his partner know without really realising what he was saying in the delirium he was in. "Oh God, Wade, you're making me come!"

"Fuck yeah, let go, Baby Boy," Wade encouraged. He continued to ride out the peristaltic contractions of Peter's orgasm, which ultimately sent him crashing into the waves of pleasure as well. Hot bursts of release filled Peter's body. So much so, that a thin trickle meandered down his thighs every time Wade withdrew and slowly pushed back into that little slice of heaven.

The feeling of that made Peter moan softly, even though his throat was hoarse from the scream with which he had spilled his own release all over the side of the armrest. His overly sensitive body jerked and winced from having to deal with too much pleasure. It bordered on sweet, sweet pain and sent a little shockwave up Peter's spine.

"Fucking hell," he muttered into the fabric in front of his mouth.

"No kidding." Wade mirrored the sentiment as he rested his forehead on Peter's sweat-slick back. For a long moment they simply stayed there and calmed their racing hearts. Finally, Wade pulled his cock out with a wet pop and collapsed back onto the couch, tugging on his companion's hip.

Peter grunted lowly and softly kicked against Wade's arm.

"Still no post coital cuddles," he stated. "Either we go on or we have a little break and then go on. Except of course if you are already done. In which case I would be calling this round my win."

"Not even five minutes of cuddles? Methinks a certain heavy-handed sex kitten forgot about the poor, defenseless tortilla press that he scarred for life with his overzealous super-strength," Wade stated as he hooked his arms over the back of the couch and smiled hugely. However, before Peter could respond, he continued. "I'm just fucking with you, Petey. I wouldn't make you to do anything you're uncomfortable with."

Wade dropped his head back and reveled in the feeling of blood rushing back to where he needed it most. Within seconds, he was at half-mast merely from the thought of another round.

Peter's body relaxed from a tension he hadn't even realized was there. No, Wade wouldn't ask anything of him he wasn't comfortable with. Wade took care of him.

"Your tortilla press is just not used to being handled properly because you're such a wuss," Peter distracted himself from these confusing and uncalled for feelings and turned around to sit down on the sofa, leaning his back against the armrest behind him. He reclined in a way that shamelessly showcased his body, all long legs and soft skin.

"Nah, my press just likes getting warmed up first," Wade retorted as he rolled his head on the couch-back to glance at Peter sidelong. That saucy little enchilada was going to be the actual death of him if his fully renewed erection was anything to go by.

With a grunt, he unhooked his arms from the sofa and slowly began to crawl towards the gorgeous kid laid out like a feast on his armrest. Peter smirked a little wider with every inch Wade came closer to him.

"You've got to start slow, oil up the griddle, knead the dough until it's pliable in your hands," the merc instructed, ticking off directions as he loomed close. He slid one hand along Peter's thigh as he urged the escort to roll onto his side, then slipped into the tight space behind him, wedged against the couch cushions. Peter pressed back against him willingly.

"Then you've got to position the handle to get that perfect angle," Wade continued, voice husky. He licked a line up the back of Peter's neck which made the teen shiver and at the same time hooked the crook of his elbow beneath Peter's knee, folding the limb so that it laid along the side of Peter's chest. The kid's flexibility made Wade's mouth water.

"And once you get it in just the right place, you press down into all of that softness and spread it until that corn dough can't help but take every…last…inch," he panted, slowly entering and bottoming out in the addictive warmth of Peter's still-slick body.

The escort moaned lowly and shuddered from the more than welcome feeling of Wade's cock pressing inside of him again. He had felt empty ever since Wade had slipped out of him and now this emptiness was finally filled again.

He clenched softly around the big, hard member inside of him and licked his dry lips.

"Stuffing them was always my favorite part of tacos," he stated, forcing himself to stay still and not press back against Wade to speed up the act. His body was already screaming for the pleasure of sexual attention again and it was hard to hold back. "I can't wait til we get to filling it up."

"Oh no, you can't rush the process, Baby Boy," Wade whispered into the damp curls of hair at the base of Peter's skull. He rocked his hips slowly, marveling at the soft texture wrapped around his cock. Positioned as they were, the motion was shallow, but still entirely satisfying.

"I wouldn't dare," Peter panted, pushing his hips down just a little. He couldn't contain himself. The feeling was just so good and he wanted more. "I would miss out on too much."

Wade pulled his pants down another few inches and wrestled his top up to rest on his lower ribs in order to feel the press of Peter's heated skin more intimately against his abdominals. He arched forward just enough to pin the kid's leg with his shoulder and bicep instead, freeing his hand to trail down and fondle Peter's weeping erection.

The teen groaned in bliss and pressed back even further.

"Oh fuck, yes," he sighed, trying to rock his hips a little to get more friction. "Shit, this is so good. Don't you stop that. This is so good…"

"Not good enough if that mouth is still running," Wade teased with a playful nip. He managed to slide his other arm beneath Peter's torso and pressed his thumb insistently against the escort's parted lips. "Suck," he ordered, punctuating the command with a firm pull on Peter's straining dick.

Peter opened his mouth for a loud and throaty moan and then took Wade's finger in right afterwards. He swirled his tongue around it once and then began to suck on it hard and passionately, accompanied by little slurping sounds.

Beads of sweat lubricated the places that their skin touched.

Digging his heels into the cushions, Wade managed to get just enough purchase to increase the depth and force of his strokes such that each thrust pressed Peter's cock into the tunnel of his fist.

Peter in return moaned around Wade's thumb in ecstasy and grabbed his arm with one hand to hold onto it like a vice. Orgasm was already building up in him again, running through his veins like liquid fire that pooled in his abdomen. He had to stop sucking on the digit to open his mouth and draw fast, shaky breaths. He kept it in his mouth though, pressing his tongue against it.

The toes of Peter's free leg curled against Wade's boot tellingly.

Foregoing the movement of his hand in favor of holding Peter's cock tightly at the base, Wade buried his nose in his hair and breathed deeply. "Not yet," he choked out. He suspected that as soon as orgasm took them, Peter would instinctively move away from him. But it was too early to give up the comfortable weight in his arms and the soft press of skin against his own.

Those moments of blissed out perfection would forever be ingrained in Deadpool's memory.

Only when they were both reduced to a writhing, panting mess did he finally release his grasp to stroke down and knead Peter's scrotum. "Shit, Peter, I can't hold back anymore," he choked out.

Two more achingly slow thrusts and he was close. Light flashed in his vision from the building pressure. The roar of blood in his ears drowned out the wet slap of their conjoined bodies until release hit him like a freight train and sent him reeling.

Wade's deep, intense thrusts in turn set off an explosion in Peter. With a loud groan, the escort came, biting down on Wade's thumb and shooting his seed all over the merc's other hand. His body convulsed, his walls clenched around Wade's member hard and Peter arched and writhed in sweet, pleasant agony until he was completely spent.

Releasing Peter's leg, Wade gently helped him to lower it back to the couch as they laid in a boneless pile.

Peter's heartbeat slowly came back to a normal rate and his breath evened. The orgasm had numbed his brain and body and so he didn't realize that he was still held in Wade's embrace.

Far be it for the merc to mention it. Instead, he simply closed his eyes and enjoyed every second of contact that Peter would give him.

It took a while until the fog in Peter's brain lifted far enough to make him notice the intimacy. Suddenly shocked by the situation, he tensed. But he didn't move out of the embrace. He couldn't.

Part of him practically screamed for him to jump up and flee from Wade's affection before it could settle inside of his heart, grow roots and become impossible to remove without ripping his heart to shreds and making it bleed out. But another part of him remembered the fondness of the embraces he had shared with Aunt May, the warmth that had wrapped around his soul whenever she had closed her arms around him, the tranquility that had calmed him down entirely for a few moments. All of that was lost forever now and would never return.

But Wade's embrace felt so warm and loving as well. It felt as if Wade was holding Peter for Peter's sake, not just to please himself. And suddenly Peter felt horrible. For not being able to give in to Wade's love. For not being able to let his fear and agony go. For the fear and agony that welled inside of him right now and squeezed his heart with cold claws. For just everything that had happened.

Feeling helpless, overstrained and desperate, Peter started to cry.

The soft, congested sniffles and the hitches in his breathing startled Wade out of his post-coital haze. "Hey, you okay, Baby Boy?" he asked. Concerned, he quickly pulled his costume top back down to cover himself. The motion made his flaccid cock reluctantly slip free from Peter's body.

"Peter?" he asked again when he got no response.

But Peter still couldn't answer. Everytime he tried to open his mouth to say something, the words got stuck in his throat and he only sobbed helplessly.

He didn't want this anymore. He couldn't take it any longer. It just hurt too much.

Tears dripped onto Wade's arm in doleful little patters, disquieting him. He struggled to get his arm out from under the escort without jostling him too much. "Jesus, did I hurt you?" he asked, on the verge of panic.

Wade frantically tucked himself back in his pants and covered every single bit of exposed skin in rapid succession as he miraculously managed to extricate himself from his burrow in the cushions. He leaned over in front of the couch and dragged the blanket from the back of it to rest over Peter's legs and hips.

Every sob wrenched another hole in his heart.

"Kid, I really need you to talk to me," he pleaded.

Peter shook his head, trying to reply. Finally he managed to choke out some words, but they were almost entirely muffled by his sobs.

"I'm sorry," he cried, pressing his own arms against his chest in a desperate attempt to soothe and protect himself. "It's not you. It's not your fault. I am sorry. It's just me. I'm just such a mess. I'm sorry I am doing this to you. You don't deserve this. I just don't know what to do."

There his blabbering was stopped by another sob and he hid his face inside of his palms because he couldn't stand to look at Wade anymore.

Unsure of what he had done to warrant such a reaction, the merc was completely at a loss as to how to fix this.

"Shh, it's okay. You have absolutely nothing to apologize for," he said quickly, still not quite grasping what had happened to upset Peter so. "Is it our agreement? 'Cause I can back the fuck off, no problem. You don't have to give me anything you don't want to and I… I don't have to stick around. Just tell me whenever you want me to leave and I will." Wade collapsed to his knees heavily and reached out to brush his fingers through Peter's hair. With a sigh, he let his arm drop. "Please, what can I do?"

"Nothing!" Peter exclaimed, followed by another sob. He didn't know how to explain to Wade what he felt. He wanted to be held and comforted by him and at the same time feared exactly that. He needed care and to be loved and yet was too afraid to lose both of those things once more. All of his options seemed to be the wrong choice and the desperation of not knowing what to do hurt him physically.

"It's not you! You didn't do anything! You _can't_ do anything! I'm just… so lost!"

And with that, Wade finally realized that this had nothing to do with the sex. This was something that went far deeper.

"Hey, would I be a complete asshole if I called in one of those contractually obligated hugs now? 'Cause I really think it would help," he stated softly.

Peter didn't answer. Partly because of the sobbing, partly because he didn't know how to respond. Wade didn't get what Peter's problem was - fearing and needing Wade at the same time - and so of course he didn't know that a hug was basically summing up the entire issue. And just like with Wade as a whole, Peter didn't know what to make of the offered hug. So he just remained silent, sniffling into his hands.

"Um, I guess I'm just going to, you know…do it…and you can kick my ass or throw me off the terrace or something if you don't like it. I heal pretty quick, so if you want to kill me a few times, you can. If you do though, try to keep the blood on washable surfaces. Jarvis would have a fuckin' fit if we ruined the couch," Wade chattered nervously as he stood up and eased himself next to Peter's head on the couch. His movements were stilted and awkward, entirely unlike the skilled combatant that he was. He shifted Peter's limp shoulders and supported his head in order to slip closer.

Peter didn't object or try to fight it. He just let Wade handle his body as he trembled, shaken from his sobs. He was mentally too weak to protest at the moment.

Wade slipped a hand around Peter's waist and pulled their sides flush. He closed his eyes and steeled himself against the imminent pain of rejection. However, Peter didn't seem to resist the contact. Maybe he wanted to be held, or maybe he was too fucking broken to do anything about it. Regardless, Peter's head fit perfectly nestled beneath Wade's chin.

"I'm not going to pretend to understand what you're going through kid. But, I've got nothing but respect for you. You know, you're a lot braver than I am," he whispered softly into Peter's messy hair. "The way I see it, when life chews you up and shits you out, people like us have got two options. You can either take the easy way out and laugh it off and brush that steaming pile of turd under the rug, or you can work through your shit and cry it out. The thing is, the tears fuckin' hurt. But in the end, sometimes they wash away some of those broken bits. The chucklefucks, though, I can tell you from experience... all they ever have is the same shit smell day in and day out."

Wade reached back to unfasten his mask, but then hesitated and pulled his hand away.

"Like I said, you're stronger and braver than I am. But, for what it's worth, I'm here for you if you need me." With that, he enveloped Peter in his arms and simply offered the comfort of his support.

Peter trembled and shook in Wade's arms from his crying and sobbing, but he allowed himself to give in to it. He had tried to fix his broken heart by himself for so long now and obviously couldn't succeed. Maybe he just needed someone to help him through this. Someone who was hurt as well and who knew the feeling, someone who was loving and caring and tender, someone who wanted to help and protect Peter with all their might. Someone like Wade.

Slowly his tears ebbed away and after a while even his sobbing was reduced to uneven breathing. He had completely soaked Wade's suit in tears, snot and saliva, but he was too empty to care right now. He just let Wade's warmth seep into his bones and make him feel safe again for the first time in ages.

"Just promise me you will never ever leave me alone," he whispered as his body finally had calmed down completely.

"Baby Boy, wild horses couldn't drag me away," Wade responded, throat tight.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

Peter took a long, hot bath after his emotional outburst on the couch. Wade had wanted to show him the master bathroom, but Peter had insisted to use the tub in his own bathroom. He wanted to be in his own little territory, the room that belonged to only him alone, where he was on his own. He knew Wade wouldn't disturb him, wherever he had decided to take that bath, but he felt safer in his own room. Even though it was only his since a few hours ago.

The hot water revived his worn out body. He took a deep breath and let his head sink under to wash off the tears and the snot. When he felt like his head was going to implode from the lack of oxygen, he sat back up and wiped the wet hair from his face. Then he stared at the water in front of him.

He had unintentionally decided to open up to Wade when he had allowed the mercenary to comfort him. He had allowed Wade to embrace him, to hold him, to stroke his hair. He had been vulnerable. Had accepted intimacy. That couldn't be undone.

But did he even want it to be undone? It had helped him, hadn't it? It had done him good. For the first time in months he had felt taken care of, hadn't felt completely desperate and helpless. In Wade's arms he had felt safe.

But could he really trust Wade that much? Could he rely on him enough to help Peter and make him feel better? Or would this turn out to be a mistake? Would Wade back out of this one day because he realized Peter wasn't what he was looking for? Would he abandon him? Peter wouldn't survive another blow like that.

He sighed and sank under the water once more before he climbed out of the tub and dried himself. With still damp hair he went over into his room and grabbed the box with his clothes. He opened it to empty it onto his bed and grabbed a fresh shirt and some pants. Then he eyed all the other things that now were scattered all over the bed and decided that he could just as well put them where they would belong from now on.

He grabbed his phone and opened up his music folder to start his playlist. Johnny Cash began playing and brought a little smile on Peter's lips. He placed the phone on his nightstand and began to put his stuff into its new place. It didn't take long, since he didn't have much. After he was done he fell down onto the bed, landing on his chest and belly, and closed his eyes for a while, just enjoying the music and getting used to the new smell of his sheets.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Wade absently double knotted the drawstring ties of his sweatpants and stared at the pantry.

He had showered, changed into something a bit more comfortable, and meticulously cleaned every handgun that he owned until even forensics wouldn't be able to find traces of gunpowder residue. Even so, his hands still itched for something to distract him. The conversation with Peter replayed in his head over and over until the various playbacks merged together into a meaningless jumble of grief and guilt. Grief for the obvious reasons, guilt for the fact that Peter had taken the leap to trust Wade to hold him tight and protect him against the encroaching darkness, but Wade was too much of a coward to open up in return. Or at least in the ways that mattered. He was in love with the concept of love, but had very little experience with the give and take of the actual thing.

Sighing, he grabbed a box of pancake mix and got to work in the hopes that the comforting smell of butter and lightly browned pillows of perfection would surround him like a hug.

"You weren't kidding," Peter suddenly stated from the doorway. He had decided to leave his room a few minutes ago and the smell of food had led him right to the kitchen.

"You really only care for tacos and pancakes."

Wade quickly tugged on the hem of his mask to make sure it was seated fully and turned to toss yet another pancake on top of the already wavering stack. "What other two meals so effortlessly combine all of the basic food groups?" he asked with a grin.

"I don't know," Peter shrugged and came over to the stove. "I never really cared much about food. I just eat what is tasty."

He had a look at the pancakes and nodded. "That does look tasty to me."

"Oh? And what makes you think these glorious cloud puffs of confectionary perfection are for you, Princess?" Wade teased, maneuvering his body to try and obstruct Peter's view.

Peter gasped. "You want me to starve?" he whined. "After you weakened my body by taking your pleasure? Oh! How can you be so cruel?"

"Please, I can't even last eight seconds on this bucking bronco," Wade said with a laugh as he turned and smacked Peter on the ass with the spatula. "Now use your almighty sex god powers to penetrate the pantry and get the syrup."

"Mmmh," Peter hummed. "I like your commanding tone."

He did as he was told and got the syrup, placing it beside the plate that was holding the pancake tower.

"Did you invite the Avengers over or something? Or are you gonna eat all of those yourself?"

"What kind of man do you think I am? Of course I'm going to finish," he answered with a lewd wink. "And that teeny-pop boy band can suck it. I'm a national goddamn treasure, they don't deserve to partake of the food of my people!"

Tension that Wade didn't even realize he had been holding abated quickly. Lighthearted banter was familiar territory. Simple. He juggled the plate of pancakes and extra dishware on one forearm and led the way into the dining room.

"I feel honored then that you're sharing it with an unworthy American like me," Peter sighed exaggeratedly.

He followed Wade into the dining room, ready to catch whatever the man might drop.

"But if you love Canada so much, why are you here in New York and not hanging out with your moose and bears?"

"New York has nicer scenery," the merc responded as he settled his cargo safely on the table with ease and pulled out a chair for Peter.

The kid nodded thankfully and sat down.

"Yeah, I bet skyscrapers are really fascinating when you grew up in a cabin in the wilderness, having trees for neighbors."

"Oh, I wasn't talkin' about the buildings and foliage," Wade said, staring pointedly at Peter.

"You mean the American meat?" Peter asked and just helped himself with getting a plate and pulling one of the pancakes onto it.

The merc laughed heartily as he pulled a two inch high stack onto his own plate and poured a moat of syrup around it. He tentatively pulled his mask up, still amazed that Peter could tolerate the view while eating, and shoved an entire pancake in his mouth all at once.

Peter watched him with a raised eyebrow.

"Okay. Now I don't doubt anymore that you're going to eat them all," he said. He poured some syrup over his own pancake and started eating.

"But seriously, why did you end up here?" he tried again.

After a few moments of dedicated chewing, Wade swallowed heavily. "There's not much to it, Baby Boy. Mom had cancer, Dad had a mean right hook and got what was coming to him. I wound up signing up with the military for a bit, but I wasn't exactly big on rules. So instead I bip-bopped around the globe until I made my way here. New York has some really fuckin' great food trucks, so I figured I would hang out for a bit."

Peter stopped eating and just looked at Wade for a moment.

"Oh," he then mumbled. He knew he had been lucky with all four of his parents and that there were people out there who weren't. Still, imagining that Wade had been beaten by his father made his stomach contract painfully.

"I am sorry."

"No need to apologize, doesn't bother me any," Wade grunted as he shoved another pancake into his mouth. Peter didn't need to be burdened with the rest of it.

"Yes it does," Peter shook his head. "Don't try to play that card on me. You told me a few hours ago that sweeping your issues under the rug doesn't help. I'm no idiot. I know that you're not doing well."

Wade stared pointedly at his plate.

"Petey, a lot of people have it a lot worse as kids. Growin' up was the easy part," he mumbled, cheeks full.

Peter sighed and put his fork down.

"Okay, Wade, listen," he started. "I have a shit ton of issues when it comes to trust, affection and intimacy. What happened earlier put me in a position that is very dangerous for me. I can either decide to continue opening up to you like that and hope that you will be worth it. Or I decide for the safe version and don't let you come any closer. This is my decision, but in fact it's up to you. I'm not willing to hand myself over completely to someone who keeps all their problems to themselves. If you don't trust me, then I can't trust you. Do you get that?"

Wade's appetite quickly dwindled. He eyed the sodden heap of pancake before him and closed his eyes as his stomach churned in revulsion. "Yeah, I get that," he said after a moment of silence, tugging his mask back into place.

Peter nodded. "Good," he replied. "Then from now on, whenever you reveal anything to me, I in return will reveal something to you. Deal?"

Pushing his chair away from the table, Wade wiped his humid palms on his sweatpants and pulled the hood of his sweater up until only the nose and chin of his mask peeked out. "It's not that I don't trust you, Peter, but you have no idea what you're asking here. This ain't the Price is fucking Right. You can't just keep trying to put a price tag on shit. How about we just say I'm a merc, an assassin when I want to be, and I kill fuckers for ludicrous amounts of money and just leave it at that?"

With that, he stood, shoved his hands into his pockets, and strode quickly through the doorway, meal forgotten.

Peter looked after him with an angry frown. Then he jumped up and rushed after Wade, using his advanced speed to not lose him.

"Hey!" he called. "Don't you dare run away from me like this!" He tried to get in front of Wade to block his way. "And stop running away from yourself as well! You know what I hate?! People who talk shit to other people, but then don't even listen to their own words! You told me to open up to heal, yet you keep running away! You're asking me to reveal my backstory, yet you refuse to even give me a glimpse of yours! You're not protecting me here, you're only protecting yourself! Again! You also told me I would get nightmares from looking at your skin, yet here I am, completely fine! If you don't want to reveal anything about you, great, then don't! But then don't expect me to trust you any further and to open up to you! You're a mystery and I can't use this risk in my life! Okay?! This is not a price tag, this is my reassurance! Cause I'm not going to make the mistake of letting someone get close to me who in the end only destroys my life even more!"

The part that hurt the most was that Peter was right.

Wade had spent so long drowning in the mire of his own self-loathing that he no longer knew how to _not_ push people away. The only way to protect himself from the atrocities perpetrated on him, body and mind, was to deny any sort of emotional depth in himself.

Peter had hit the nail on the head.

"You're right, you're absolutely, one-hundred percent right. I like you. I like you a lot, kid. I can't even look at you without wondering just how soft that ridiculous hair would feel in my hands when I kiss you goodnight… wondering what it would be like to wake up holding you every morning. It's torture. But this," he said, jabbing a thumb into his own chest. "This is a bag of crazy. And once you see the mess that is Wade Winston Wilson you'll book the next flight out of here, just like everyone else."

Breathing heavily, he tried to sidestep around Peter.

"No," Peter objected and quickly moved to the side to stop Wade from going anywhere. "I will leave you because you cannot open up to me. I will not wake up every morning in the arms of a ghost. If you want me to stay, give me a chance to see the real you. You cannot expect me to ever love you back if I don't even know who you are."

Wade's head snapped up at the word 'love.' He didn't even realize that he had been staring at the floor the entire time until that moment. Peter's face swam in front of him.

"I… you…" he stuttered, before giving up with a single self-deprecating huff of laughter. "Fuck. I can't die, but I sure as shit suck at living too." Beside them, the large windows stood tall and near invisible in the oncoming twilight. Wade blinked quickly and seemed to deflate all at once. "Alright, Peter, you got a deal."

The teen studied Wade's masked face for a moment, frowning. Then he nodded.

"Good," he said, a lot calmer now. He still sounded a bit sceptical, though. "I promise I will not run away because you're a mess. Believe me, I know what being a mess feels like. But I will kick your sorry ass if I ever find out that you're lying to me. Or if you sniff my underwear."

Wade put his hands up halfway in surrender. "The warning about the underwear is about half a week too late, Baby Boy," he responded, supporting Peter's attempt to lighten the gravity of their situation.

"Eeeew," Peter said and gave a kick towards Wade's groin, slow enough to be dodged. "You're so gross."

The mercenary spun out of the way and moonwalked back into the den. "Reconsidering already?"

"Next time I will soak my shorts in pepper spray after I used them," Peter announced and followed Wade down the hall. Tension was leaving him quickly now that they were back to normal.

"That just enhances the flavor," Wade retorted with a forced grin. "Anyways, it's pretty early yet. What would you like to do? Jarvis won't be back until tomorrow night and we have the place all to ourselves until then." He leapt onto the massive sofa as they entered the living room once more and tried to take up as much space as he possibly could.

This was nice. Ignoring the important bits in favor of quiet camaraderie was right up Wade's alley.

"Well, first I will get some more of those delicious pancakes," Peter declared. "And then, while I eat those, I would love to make use of this giant TV and watch it til my eyes burn and I fall asleep on the sofa with crumbs all over my chest."

"Go on ahead," Wade said with an absent wave of his hand. "I've got to watch my girlish figure after all. But I'll keep the couch warm for you." He rolled around on the sofa until he was face down on his stomach and wiggled his bottom. The upholstery still smelled like Peter's shampoo.

"You're a true friend," Peter sighed and made his way over to the dining room to retrieve his own and also Wade's still full plate together with his cutlery and then balanced both of them over to the living room.

"I'll fetch myself something to drink," he announced as he put the plates down on the couch table. "Can I get you something?"

A host of responses crowded towards the forefront of Deadpool's mind, but he shoved them back mercilessly and kept it simple.

"Mmm, maybe some fries to go with that shake?" he asked, turning his head to watch the tantalizing curve of Peter's body as he bent at the waist to set everything down. "Seriously, if that ass gets any tighter I'll have to start calling you Andrew Garfield."

"Is that a porn star or an ass-model or something?" Peter asked, not really sounding interested. "I'll just get you whatever then. My ass goes with anything."

The patter of Peter's receding footsteps faded until there was nothing but the sound of Wade's own rasping breath.

"Yeah, something like that," he responded to the 'ass-model' comment far too late for Peter to catch. With a sigh, he pressed his face into the couch cushions and chased the smell of fruity shampoo once more.

Kicking back and watching some tube would be nice. Comfortably domestic. But there was a lingering sense of impending doom due to the realization that the kid would hold him to his word to share their histories. Peter was perceptive and tenacious; there would be no mercy, no possibility of Wade dancing around the truth this time.

After a while Peter came back with two glasses and a bottle of iced tea. He set everything down on the table and had a look at the still black TV screen.

"What's that?" he asked as he poured the beverage into their glasses. "I thought you would switch on the TV." He closed the lid of the bottle and sat down at the other end of the sofa, his back against the armrest. "Also you lack chocolate milk," he informed the apartment-owner and used the man's ass to rest his feet on.

"I tried to reach the remote, but the couch's gravity was too strong," Wade mumbled into the cushion. He made a dramatic attempt to lift his arm from where it dangled over the side, but trembled violently from the play-acted strain. "I just can't do it, Captain! I just don't have the power," he said in a terrible impersonation of a Scottish accent.

Peter's feet felt great on his ass; like a personal masseuse for his glutes.

"Ugh, sailor. You're a disgrace. Not even the sharks will eat you," Peter groaned.

He leaned over to the table, supporting himself with one arm on the ground and reached over with the other hand until he finally got to the remote. It stuck to his fingertips, so he could haul it in without really having to grab it.

"That's why I'm the captain and you're just swabbing the decks," he clarified as he was settled back on the sofa, and switched on the TV.

Wade reared up and spun in place to sit up, displacing Peter's feet. "Okay, I flat out refuse to believe that you've never seen the original Star Trek. You were born in what, 1962? There are no excuses, Baby Boy," he exclaimed incredulously.

Without pause, he lifted Peter's legs and set them on his lap instead. "Jimmy Doohan was a Canadian treasure, like myself. We need to educate you, stat."

Peter raised his brows.

"I'm turning 19 this summer," he told Wade and tossed him the remote. "And I _did_ watch some original Star Trek. Which doesn't mean I can quote every episode. Very sorry."

The deep hum of the television morphed into the obnoxious laugh track of a miscellaneous sitcom as Wade changed the input mode. "Not sorry enough! By the time I'm done with you, you'll be speaking Tribble." he said with a grin. "But right now you're the acting Captain on my starship, Baby. Our mission is to boldly watch whatever the fuck you want." He tossed the remote back to Peter and reclined with a groan of approval.

With that, he refocused his attention on the feet occupying his lap and began to knead Peter's arches through his threadbare socks.

Peter frowned and looked down at his feet, curling in his toes a little.

"Stop that, please," he then ordered. "I don't like that."

Wade stopped immediately and tried to pull his hands away with a surprised apology, but his fingers were stuck fast. Eyes-wide, he tried again to dislodge his hands to no avail. "Umm…Petey?"

The teen rolled his eyes and pulled his feet away, making sure not to drag Wade's hands along.

"Spider-powers," he explained, sounding a bit annoyed. "Sorry."

"What the shit?! That's amazing! Do it again!" the merc exclaimed, flailing and trying to recapture Peter's feet.

"Hey!" Peter tried to pull his feet further away, but he only could do so to a certain amount until his knees met his chest. "Get off me, I'm not a curiosity, you nerd! How do you think I climb walls, man?"

"Getting it on with Tinkerbell? I don't fucking know. Let me seeeee," Wade whined piteously, tugging on the hem of Peter's pants. When Peter didn't budge, he tried a different tactic. "Fine, how about I'll show you mine if you show me yours!"

"Your what? Your feet? Do they smell like rotten cheese? Because then I'll pass," Peter said and tried to fold his feet away from Wade's hands.

The universe groaned in commiseration with the gravity of Wade's eye-roll. "No, Twinkle-toes. My anti-hero powers. I'm more than just my good looks, you know. And, by the way, my feet smell like roses fucked the Snuggle bear, thank you very much."

He pulled at Peter's ankles, hoping that the increased leverage would help, but to no avail.

"You have powers other than this amazingly strong healing factor?" Peter asked, suddenly interested. He let Wade pull his feet towards him a bit, but didn't give in completely yet.

"You bet your sweet ass. Now show me those crazy spider-feet!" Deadpool ordered happily.

"I swear to all that is holy in Canada, if you trick me, I will drown you in maple syrup every day until the end of time," Peter warned. Then he slowly let his resistance go so Wade could pull Peter's feet towards him.

The mercenary blatantly ignored the threat in favor of studying the enigmas now occupying his lap. He carefully swept his thumb over the ball of a foot and traced his fingers down all the way to its heel in an attempt to make them stick. "Hey, what's the deal?" he asked, confused.

Peter shuddered softly and wiggled a bit, slightly uncomfortable.

"First of all, be a bit careful when you touch them, they are sensitive," he requested. "Secondly, I learned how to control their stickiness. Try again now."

Wade did as he was told and marveled at how the broad palm of his hand was secured tightly to Peter's sole. His grin was wide enough to eclipse the sun. "This is so cool. But, how are you able to stick to shit through socks? Can you stick to things with other body parts? Can we have kinky arachnid sexy times on the ceiling? These are like the fuckin' mysteries of life, Petey-pie."

Peter rolled his eyes again.

"Only my feet and my fingertips are sticky," he cleared things up. "But yes, if we do it right, we probably can have kinky arachnid sexy times on the ceiling. Also socks are only fabric, so it's no miracle that my feet stick through them."

"Duly noted. What about shoes?" Wade asked as he flapped his hand around to try and dislodge it.

Peter sighed and made his feet unstick.

"Doesn't work," he continued his spider-powers-lesson. "It has to be thin fabric. The soles of normal shoes are too thick. I wouldn't be able to climb walls with my feet alone if I was wearing normal shoes. But if I can make my fingertips stick to the walls too, then I can just press my feet against the wall hard enough to support me."

Wade grunted in thought.

"I guess I'm going to have to scrap the Fly-man design. This is way cooler. You're like…the Amazing Spider-Man or something," he sighed dreamily. Peter had so many layers of complexity, and Wade wanted to discover them all. But, first, he did offer a mutual show and tell. "Alright, well, I hope you're ready for this," he stated as he shifted on the couch and leaned in close enough to whisper in Peter's ear.

"Okay, so I have…" he began, pausing for dramatic effect, "the power of persuasion." At that, he collapsed back to his seat in a fit of laughter so hearty that his stomach ached. A well timed laugh track from the television served as a supportive accompaniment.

Peter scowled at him heavily, though.

"Are you fucking serious?" he growled. "That's your promised reveal?"

The mercenary's raucous laughter was subdued quickly in the face of Peter's anger. "Umm…I guess so. I've got a killer healing factor and the shattered dreams of a successful career as a QVC hand model. That's about it," he squeaked out, knowing he had messed up again.

Peter huffed and got up from the sofa.

"Forget it," he snarled. "Your superpower right now is watching TV alone. And don't even dare to think about knocking at my door."

With that he stomped over to the exit, his hands clenched to fists to control his anger.

"No, no, no, no, no, wait!" Wade called out, scrambling to his feet and bounding over the coffee table in pursuit. "I was just joking!" The angry set of Peter's shoulders as he stormed off sent a shiver down the merc's spine that settled heavily in his gut. Once again, he had unintentionally sabotaged the tentative bond of trust between them. "My healing factor is a shitty consolation prize courtesy of an experimental, non-fucking-stop, torture-fest perpetrated by my own goddamn government," he yelled at Peter's retreating back as a last ditch effort to patch the wound that he had just torn open.

Peter stopped in his tracks, one hand at the door frame. His head lowered, he stared at the spot in front of him, not really knowing how to react to this sudden confession.

"Why did they do that to you?" he finally asked lowly. A little part of him wanted to make him believe that it was made up, that Wade was just trying to win back his trust and get his attention. But Peter knew that wasn't true. He believed every single word of what Wade had just said.

"I had terminal cancer. They said that they could fix me. They just didn't say how," Wade revealed cryptically, wincing at the sound of his long-held pain so starkly over-simplified. He shifted his weight restlessly and studied the ceiling.

Peter swallowed hard. "So they experimented on you until you got that healing factor?" he tentatively asked further. His own words made his guts cramp just from the images they painted inside of his head.

"Yeah," Deadpool responded without further clarification. "Wanna watch Golden Girls?"

Peter hesitated, but then he nodded.

"My aunt liked to watch them too," he muttered. He turned around and slowly came back to the sofa. "I sometimes watched it with her."

They assumed their previous positions on the couch while Wade silently pulled up a random episode. The flashes of light from the screen reflected against the lenses of his mask.

"That's what they want to do to me too, you know," Peter said after quite a while. "Experimenting on me and my blood. To find out why the spider-powers are working on me, but not on anybody else they tried it on. Nobody but me has adapted the healing factor and other superpowers. They need them to heal the company head, Norman Osborn. And do whatever else with it. No matter the costs."

Wade reached across his lap and laced their fingers together in quiet support. It had been an emotional rollercoaster of a day.

"So you weren't born this way either? There's no clutch of little Peter spider babies on the loose that I should let the exterminator know about?" he attempted to joke, but his heart just wasn't into it. With a sigh, he draped his free arm over Peter's shoulders and pulled their sides flush. "They're not going to get you, kid. I can promise you that."

Especially not if Deadpool got to them first.

Peter gave a heartless laugh and slightly leaned against Wade.

"No, I wasn't born like that. I was bitten by a genetically modified spider. About one and a half years ago. Before that I was just a normal nerd."

He didn't squeeze Wade's hand or fingers, but he didn't pull his hand away either. It felt good to have some support.

"Nah, you're still a hopeless nerd. But now you're a nerd that can whoop some serious ass," Wade retorted. When Peter didn't pull away, he rested his temple against the teen's mop of brown hair and closed his eyes. The dulcet tones of Bea Arthur's voice served as white noise as he contemplated how best to track down the information he needed on Norman Osborn.

"Hah, yeah," Peter replied. "Though I don't know if that's enough. Somehow, somewhere, there will probably always be someone who will be after me and my powers."

Wade pulled back just enough to meet Peter's eyes.

"Baby Boy, I don't share," he whispered darkly. "And I sure as fuck don't play well with others."

"Aw, so no threesomes?" Peter asked back. It was obvious though that he didn't really mean the joke. Instead his heart was racing, but he didn't know from what. Somehow it had to do with the hope that Wade was right and would really be able to fully protect Peter from everything and everyone, as long as both of them lived. So probably forever. It was the first hope of complete safety he had in months and the chance that it might actually be true made Peter feel overly excited.

"Well, maybe we shouldn't strike that from the table just yet. After all, you never know if some hella-fine, cock-gobbling clone from an alternate-dimension is going to pop in for sexy-time shenanigans," Wade responded with a lewd wink.

"Uh-huh," Peter snorted. "You keep on dreaming, cancer-boy."

He squirmed his fingers out of Wade's hand to grab it and softly stroke his thumb over the rugged surface.

"Is that why your skin is like that? Was that the cancer? Or is that from them?" he wanted to know.

Exhaling deeply, Wade leaned back against the couch and let his arm slide down to rest around Peter's waist instead. "A little bit of both. Those dick-nibblers didn't just give me super-healing, they gave me super-cancer too. There's a constant battle royale going on in my body that gives me this award-winning complexion. Eat your heart out, Heidi Klum," he muttered, wiggling his fingers beneath Peter's hand.

The patches of discoloration and sores in various stages of healing were a gross contrast to the perfection of Peter's own unblemished skin. Wade fought the urge to pull away and slip his hand into the pouch of his hoodie.

"Oh," Peter said lowly. "So you're constantly destroying and healing yourself." He carefully traced his finger over the little craters in Wade's flesh and felt the unevenness under his own skin. "Does it hurt?"

Wade couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips in response to Peter's concern. "At first. But then it just turned into background noise. I take pretty heavy damage on the regular, so my idea of pain tends to be a matter of degree," he said softly.

Peter nodded with an "mh."

"You know, I really like that," he admitted then. "I don't know why. Smooth skin is boring. I always found scars or wrinkles or marks far more fascinating than the regular stuff. It also feels far more interesting."

"Alright, now you're just fucking with me," the merc accused, pulling his hand back as if Peter's touch had branded him. He may have built up a barrier in terms of physical pain, but the perceived slight from the teen had hit home hard.

Peter looked over at him with a surprised look on his face.

"What? No!" he objected. "I was being fully sincere! Perfection is boring. It's an illusion. Nothing is absolutely flawless. We always want it to be, because we think it's the best state. But it isn't. Things become beautiful when you find the little cracks and edges. They become individual. When you have this one mug with a little crack in it and you know only this one mug is yours. When you walk along and find that one floor tile that doesn't fit and you will always remember this exact same spot while all the other tiles are lost between the others. Nothing is fully perfect. What _is_ perfection, even? We _say_ that smooth skin is beautiful, but only because no one has smooth skin. Because we all have wrinkles or moles or scars or whatever. And that's what makes us human. What makes us beautiful and individual. When I'm out there with my camera, I don't take pictures of the perfect, straight, boring tree that is cut into shape. I take a photo of that crooked, old, weird-looking tree because only this one tree looks like that and because its oddity makes it fascinating to look at. Society tells us what we should find beautiful, but in the end it's only us ourselves that decide what we like. Taste changes all the time, it's not like there's a thing that people always found beautiful. It's just a matter of definition and who says what. I don't listen to that. I see what I see and I like what I like. And to me imperfections are truly beautiful, because they are real and they are genuine and they are the true perfections. I could spend hours just staring at your skin, because your skin is exciting and beautiful. If I want to stare at something completely smooth and even, I will go back into the bathroom and just look at the surface of the sink all day."

Wade could only stare incredulously for a long moment before letting his head hang.

"Are you saying that I'm crooked, old, and weird looking," he replied, near tears. Despite Peter's monologue on the subject, the merc knew that perfection did exist. It was sitting right beside him.

"Ugh, Jesus, no!" Peter shook his head. It was hard finding the right words. He was a photographer, not a goddamn author! "I'm saying that your skin is beautiful and that I find it fascinating! And that there is absolutely nothing repelling about it in my mind!"

A curl of unfettered longing snaked through Wade's chest. He hesitantly reached up and brushed his fingertips along the strong line of Peter's jaw.

"I know, Petey-pie, I was just teasing. I just can't wrap my brain around the fact that someone like you exists," he stated in a near whisper.

Peter tensed a little, but didn't pull his head away. He didn't want to destroy his own words by the wrong gesture.

"Someone like me?" he asked. "Hah. Well, let me tell you something. I had only one friend in my entire life, and he left years ago. Never heard from him again. Ever since I can remember, all people do is stuff me into my locker or the bin or dunk my head into the toilet. They laughed at me, made fun of me, or, if I was lucky, just ignored me. No one even showed as much as a tiny little bit of interest in me, quite the contrary. So when you say I am perfect, I am so only for you and no one else on this entire planet. This is what perfection is. It's what we, only we alone, are craving. What we declare as perfect can be another person's nightmare. And what other people praise to the heavens can be completely unimportant to us. When I say your skin is perfect, it is. Not because others say so, but because I personally think that."

Expectant silence hung between them for a long moment.

Finally, too choked up to respond, Wade tilted Peter's chin up and dared to lean forward and softly press their lips together despite the mask. He retreated almost immediately, but his fingers lingered.

Peter stared at the white eyes of Wade's mask. Inside of him, pretty much every emotion possible clashed together.

No one had ever kissed him before. Well, except for his parents and foster-parents, of course. It had only been a small peck, but still. This had officially been his first kiss.

A part of him was laughing about that fact, because it was probably the weirdest first kiss anyone had ever received. In a penthouse at Central Park, from a mercenary with superpowers who still had his mask on, after they had had a discussion about perfect skin. Hilarious.

Another part of him wanted to dive forward and repeat the action because he was curious. He kinda wanted to know what kissing was like. Especially without a mask in the way.

A third part of him was angry, because Wade had kissed him even though Peter had said that this was out of the question. Peter had said no and Wade had still done it. That was not how agreements worked.

A different part was sad, because he remembered the last kiss he had given Aunt May before he had left for school the day they had been murdered. He would never be able to kiss her again or to do anything else. He would never be able to tell her about Wade. She would never meet him. She and Uncle Ben and both of Peter's parents were gone from his life forever.

But the biggest part of Peter, the one that overrode all of the others, was afraid. He was afraid of what that kiss meant, for both Wade and him, what it caused, what it would do. They had begun to bond and to trust each other, to tell each other their fears and secrets, to become close and to open up. Peter had started to feel comfortable and safe around Wade, secure and protected, able to let go of his past. But now Wade had kissed him and a kiss normally meant that people expected something of you. Love. Devotion. Commitment. A relationship. Of course Wade had mentioned before that he was in love with Peter, that was no surprise. But it had only been his own problem. Now he had dragged Peter into it by forcing him to react to the kiss and Peter had to make a decision.

If he gave in, he would probably agree to something he wasn't ready for. Something that haunted him ever since his loved ones had been killed, something that he could lose, that could be taken away from him, that made him vulnerable and that was dangerous. Something he didn't know if he wanted it or not, if he felt the same way about as Wade or not. Was he in love with that man? Could he be? Did he want to be? He didn't know.

If he resisted, he would maybe break the bond they had just begin to tighten, would maybe drive Wade away, would maybe make all the effort of building up this trust and friendship crumble and destroy it all. Then everything he feared he could lose if he agreed to give in would definitely be lost already now. But maybe it would hurt a little less because he wasn't too invested yet. Or maybe it would make it impossible to ever open up again to anyone in fear they could fall in love with him too, forcing him to make this decision again. What should he do? All of the options were horrible.

Unable to decide on a reaction, Peter just kept on staring at Wade's masked face. A mask. He didn't even know the face of the guy who had just kissed him. This was so absurd. Peter was completely and utterly overstrained with this situation.

The sudden tension in Peter's body was incredibly telling. Wade realized that he had unintentionally over-stepped his bounds once more. "Fuuuuuck," he groaned. "I didn't mean to do that. Don't get me wrong, I want to do that a lot… like, all the time. But I didn't mean to break the rules. I just thought…" The merc paused as he desperately scrambled for the right words. "You're so unbelievably amazing and… I… I'm a fucking idiot. Sorry, Peter." Wade scooted over a few inches and braced his elbows on his knees, allowing his face to fall into his cupped palms with a slap. Peter was going to leave now, he just knew it.

Wade's movement tore Peter out of his numbness, but he still didn't move. Seeing Wade like that made him feel bad. Wade was a good person, he was nice and caring and tender and protective and he deserved someone who loved him back. Not the insecure, fearful mess that Peter was.

"It's okay," he heard himself mutter. "It's not your fault. I just… I don't know…"

Deadpool grunted in agreement and lifted his head to watch as the credits rolled. He hummed a few bars of _Thank You for Being a Friend_ and stood up abruptly. "I should probably go. Make yourself at home. If you need anything, I'll be in the spare room that I showed you."

Peter nodded slightly, also starring at the screen. "Yeah, alright… Goodnight…" he mumbled.

Without turning back, Wade responded, "G'night, kid."

Chapter 10

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The vaulted ceiling looked exactly the same as when Wade first started staring at it four hours ago.

After the debacle of a day he and Peter had, sleep was an elusive bedfellow. Too many thoughts crowded to the forefront of his mind to ever be able to find peace lying in the dark as he was.

It was odd in retrospect, how the tentative trust between them ebbed and flowed like the crashing surf. In a matter of days, Wade had shared more of himself with Peter than with any one person in the whole of his lifetime. It was as exciting as it was discomfiting. But, he had likely shattered that burgeoning trust last night by pushing too hard, by wanting too much. He would have to bide his time and pray that Peter was still around in the morning. Until then, he would simply lie in his bed and allow the anxiety to gnaw at his stomach until he was nauseous with it.

His sweater clung to his skin from nervous sweat. Finally, he struggled his way out of it in disgust and tossed it to the floor, falling back to the sheets with a grunt.

It was going to be a long night.

Outside, on the balcony, Peter suffered through the same. He still didn't know what to do, even after hours spent just standing there in the cool air of the night. He had watched a bit more of the Golden Girls without really paying attention before he had switched off the TV and had gone outside.

The lights of the city danced right in front of him and the noise of the cars and the nightlife was drumming against his ears like the pulse of New York. It was so familiar and yet so strange. Everything was strange right now.

He only knew Wade for five days. Only five days and this man had already messed up Peter's life more than Peter could comprehend. He had terrified him, saved him, stalked him, made him angry, made him relieved, made him laugh and cry, rise and fall. The time with him had been more intense than anything Peter had ever experienced and it felt like months, not only days.

Still, Peter didn't know what to do. He wasn't certain whether he loved Wade or whether he wanted to allow himself to love Wade. But at the same time he knew that he _needed_ to love Wade, that something inside of him was craving it heavily. He needed the trust and the safety and he needed the belonging and to be taken care of, to be protected and loved and supported through all of this shittiness that was his life. He was yearning for all of that and at the same time he was so afraid of never getting it, or worse: losing it. And yet he knew he wouldn't be able to resist.

He liked Wade. He liked Wade a lot. And he knew that Wade was everything he could ever hope for in a lover. Also Wade was immortal and he was probably the most loyal and determined person on this planet. There was no way Peter could ever lose him, be it through force or through internal factors. Wade could be his safe haven. If he only let him.

Sighing deeply, Peter leaned over the balustrade far enough to almost fall and dangled there for a while with closed eyes. He couldn't hide from this forever. He only had two options anyway, and one was to run away and go back to living the awful life he had led for the past couple of months: being afraid, being alone, being on the run. He didn't want to go back to this life. He wanted to stay here, with Wade, where he was safe and where he was with someone. Someone who loved him.

Grunting at himself, he slid back down onto the terrace and went back inside. There was no decision to be made. There wasn't anything to debate. He could only do one right thing and he would do it now, before his doubts and his panic would make him do something stupid.

Silently he made his way through the dark hallways until he reached the door of Wade's room. He hesitated for a second, thinking about whether to knock or just enter. Then he opened the door and slipped inside quietly.

Before the handle had even turned fully, Wade was halfway across the room with his sidearm trained on the shadowed intruder. As soon as they were fully in the room, he wrenched their arm behind them and slammed them bodily into the wall. "Who the fuck are you working for and explain in three words or less why I shouldn't turn you off like a fucking light switch," he snarled.

Peter's special sense went off the second he entered the room, but he didn't have much time to react. Wade was fast. Also he didn't want to fight the merc, so he let Wade 'capture' him, even though it really hurt.

"You didn't sniff my shampoo well enough if you can't recognize me from my smell," he groaned. "Also if you kill me you're out of your job, so you better let me go."

Without pause, Wade shoved his pistol into the waistband of his sweatpants and spun Peter in place. He frantically ran his hands up and down the kid's chest, arms, and face, checking for injury. When his quick assessment turned up nothing, he quickly pulled Peter into a tight hug. The mercenary's heart raced so quickly that it threatened to burst from his bare chest. "Jesus tap-dancing Christ, I'm so sorry, Baby Boy," he exclaimed, voice loud in the quiet gloom.

"Mph. It's okay," Peter mumbled against Wade's body. "At least now I'm 100% certain that you're doing your job whole-heartedly. I would appreciate it if you'd let me go, though. You're breaking all of my bones and I'm suffocating."

Wade did as instructed, still resting his hands on Peter's shoulders. "What's up? Is everything alright? Do you need anything?" he rattled off quickly.

This. This was exactly the reason why Wade was perfect. There was no doubt that he valued Peter's well-being over anything else, even if Peter had done nothing more than just entering his room. For Wade this already meant thinking about all the possible reasons why Peter could have done so and preparing to eliminate every single detail that could make any of those reasons a bad one.

Peter sighed.

"We need to talk," he stated, putting his hands on Wade's chest to shove him gently. "And there will be no running this time. No leaving. We will settle this entirely, right here and now, and there's no escape. Sit down, this is gonna take a while."

"Are you breaking up with me, Shnookums?" Wade joked nervously. Realizing that he was still bare chested, he quickly strode over to the nearby cherry-wood dresser and pulled out a shirt, thankful for the darkness. Only after he donned it did he realize that he had accidentally put on a short-sleeved compression top. He rubbed his arms self-consciously. Peter was waiting; it would have to do for the time being.

"Depends on you," Peter answered. He went over to the bed and sat down on it, waiting for Wade to finish whatever he was doing.

The merc approached the bed as if he was being sent to the gallows and sat down with a healthy stretch of mattress between them. "So, I feel like I should be saying something witty here or at least quoting Lionel Richie, or something, but I'm coming up blank," he muttered with a half-hearted chuckle.

"No," Peter shook his head. He sounded dead serious. "I want you to tell me everything about your past, right here and now. In return I will tell you all about me. And I want to see your face. The whole thing. Not just a glimpse of your mouth when you're eating. You kissed me, so now I have to accept or to decline. And I can only accept if I know who I'm even with here. So I want to know Wade Winston Wilson now, in and out, better than anyone. Go. Or I will chose the other option."

"But you already know Wade Winston Wilson better than anyone else," Wade retorted plaintively.

"Don't give me that bullshit," Peter growled. "I'm not fucking around. You either prove to me _now_ that you trust me with anything and that I can trust you with anything, or I will leave and never come back. I will not take the risk to devote myself to you when I don't even know who you are. This is your last chance, so you better take it or I'm gone."

Wade leaned over and flipped the switch on a nearby table lamp. Soft, muted light poured into the immediate area, leaving the corners in shadow. He lay back with a sigh and crossed his muscular arms over his chest while his feet dangled off of the side of the bed.

"So, once upon a time there was a bouncing bundle of alliterative joy named Wade Winston Wilson," Deadpool began, narrating with fake cheer. "Little Wilson lost his momma to el cancer early on and grew up in a clusterfuck of a home with an abusive jizz-stain of a father until he was old enough to fuck off. One night, daddy dearest got shot for being a cock-waffle and his perfect little mistake wound up joining the military rather than begging on the streets. Turns out, Little Wilson was really good at what he did, but, like a dumbass, had this moral code that wouldn't allow him to kill the people that didn't deserve it. For his troubles, he was rewarded with a dishonorable discharge and a firm boot up the ass. Seeing how as his only skill set involved penetration of the distinctly un-sexy kind, Little Wilson became a mercenary and roamed the globe, cutting down marks and raking in the dough. But then that pesky moral compass struck again and he refused to take down a paid mark. Sick of the bullshit, and tired of being hunted, he went to New York to try and make a life for himself that wasn't based on spilling brain matter."

He stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath and refusing to look over at Peter. After a brief pause, he continued without the self-deprecating storytelling.

"I met a girl and settled down for a while. Not long though. I took after my mom with the whole terminal cancer shtick and I didn't want my girl to go through what I had to when I was a kid. So I left. Incidentally, the good ole Canadian government had a special weapons development branch under the moniker 'Department K,' like an off-brand cereal. They were working in conjunction with the US on a superhuman enhancement program named Weapon X, and offered me a chance to cure my cancer. Like a dumbass, I jumped at the opportunity. Turns out, curing my cancer meant injecting me chock-full of go-go juice and torturing my happy ass until I was half mad from it. My body finally gave it up to the latent mutant DNA pumping through me like a kid on prom night. Every cell in my body was souped up, including the cancerous ones. Now there's a constant war waging between the cancer and my healing factor, hence the shit-show," he explained, unfolding and raising his arms as if in demonstration. They fell back to the bed bonelessly.

"From there I made a costume and a name for myself, and hunted down the guys responsible. Their guts got strung up across the US like Christmas lights and I settled in New York for the long haul. I took up mercing again and met a couple of jerk offs in a boy band who had the audacity to call me a not-so-much-friend-as-vaguely-tolerated-acquaintance. That idiot, Stark, told me how I should be living," Wade said, gesturing vaguely at the entire penthouse. "And Barton beat it into my thick skull that there were people worth living for. Then I met you, and realized that Clint was right."

Wade finished his story and stayed silent, awaiting judgment. The sides of his mask clung to his temples where trapped tears had pooled against his skin.

Peter was crying as well. Silent tears ran down his cheeks and fell from his chin. He licked them from his trembling lips and clenched his fists as Wade was finished, sniffling a few times to even be able to speak.

It was his turn on deck.

"My parents left me when I was 6," he began, his voice broken. "They had to, because my dad was a scientist and he had found something that people wanted to steal from him. Something dangerous. So he and my mum decided to take his research and leave. They had to, because of me. To keep me safe. They died in a plane crash. They wouldn't have if it hadn't been for me. They left me with my dad's brother, Uncle Ben, and my Aunt May. They were my parents from there on. And they were great parents. They raised me, sent me to school and all that. I was just a normal teenager. Until that… accident happened…"

His tale was interrupted by a silent sob. It was so hard to put all of this into words. He had never tried to make those horrible memories into a story. It hurt terribly.

"Something happened to me," he continued lowly. "I was snooping around at Oscorp, trying to find out more about my father and why he left, because he had worked for them in the past. I got bitten by a spider and adapted its powers. Oscorp found out from their surveillance cameras and from monitoring me, and hunted me down. They tried to explain to me why they needed me and why technically my blood belonged to them. Turns out that my father and his friend, Curt Connors, began to do research on cross species genetics. Since the research was promising and Norman Osborn needed a cure from his terminal illness, Oscorp financed it. My dad managed to breed the cross-genetic spiders, but one day he just left and took all of his research with him. They tried to use the spiders they still had, but it just didn't work. I was the first and only person who adapted their powers, so they wanted me to do experiments on. They didn't say it like that, but I knew what they meant. I ran away. But they knew where I lived. One day I came home and my aunt and my uncle were dead. They were just lying there, on the living room floor, and they were dead. My uncle had tried to protect my aunt, he was lying above her. But they were both dead. Someone had shot them."

He swallowed hard. Tears were streaming down his face and his trembling lips tasted like salt. He pressed them together for a moment until he was able to go on.

"I managed to escape," he whispered. "They shot at me, but I just dodged the bullets. I killed one or two of them. Just snapped their necks. I got away from them, but I didn't know where to go. I had no friends, no family left. And I didn't want to put anyone in danger. So I stayed out on the street. Slept in empty houses and train stations. Always on the run. But I had close to no money with me and I couldn't get any or they would have found me. I was sure they were tracking our bank account. So I was broke pretty soon. That was when I saw a guy standing there in the middle of the night. I hadn't eaten in days. I just went up to him and offered him a blowjob. I just wanted money for food. He said yes. So I blew him. Got 20 bucks for that. It was easy money and it fed me. So I kept on doing it. And I became good. I raised my prices, I raised my offers. I became a professional. I made enough money to rent a small flat, to pay for my food, to get some clothes. It was a good job. I wanted to raise enough money to maybe go somewhere else or try and get a different job. I would love to study. I am really good at science, you know? Like my dad. But I never finished high-school and Oscorp will find me as soon as they read my name anywhere. So I have to stay under the radar. And then you found me and now I'm here and I… think I am safe for now, but I still don't know what to do. Just don't know what to do…"

He swallowed and bit his lower lip again. It still tasted salty. His right hand had clawed at his left forearm in an attempt to hold onto himself for support. The pain had managed to keep him focused and to not drift off too deep into his dark thoughts. His fingernails had left marks in his pale skin.

"Jesus, fuck," Wade whispered in summation. He swiftly closed the distance between them, slipped behind Peter, and engulfed him in his muscular arms. Even his thighs bracketed the teen's. "Hey, you're safe now, Baby Boy. I'm so, so sorry for everything that you've been through. But you're safe now," he reaffirmed for the both of them. Their tears intermingled in the fabric of his mask as he rested his temple against Peter's cheekbone. "When I found your files there were black box recordings from your parent's flight. The cockpit voice recorder picked up some pretty gnarly monologuing, but I had no idea of the scope…" he trailed off. Deciphering the information and coming up with a plan to slaughter every last one of the bastards could wait. Peter needed him.

Peter sniffled and rubbed his nose.

"There was a black box?" he asked. His incredulousness was hardly to be heard through the tears. "I didn't know that… I always thought it was an accident, until Oscorp approached me. Then I was pretty sure that they had something to do with it. But I didn't know… What did they say?"

"Don't worry about that right now, Petey. My paraphrasing probably wouldn't amount to much, anyways. But I promise you, we'll go through every single one of those files until there's nothing left but bones," Wade stated gravely into the skin of Peter's neck. "But for now, just relax. I won't let anything happen to my Baby Boy."

Peter squirmed a little because the new information made him twitchy and nervous. Imagining what could be on that black box brought goosebumps up on his arms. But then a big wave of emotional exhaustion washed over him and let him sink back against Wade's strong body. He couldn't worry about this right now. He simply couldn't. He was so drained and so tired from this entire day and the days before it that he just didn't have any strength left to deal with something new.

"Okay," he whispered and placed his arms over Wade's. He had enough to cope with right this moment. The files could wait until another day.

They stayed that way for an indeterminate amount of time, lost to their own thoughts but taking comfort in each other's presence.

Finally, the tearing sound of Velcro broke the silence between them. Screwing his eyes shut, Wade tossed his mask onto the bed and ran one hand over the irregular surface of his mostly bald head. The white lenses of his mask glared up at him accusingly.

He said nothing, merely returned his arm to its place around Peter's chest.

Peter looked up, startled by the noise, and stared at the mask beside of them. As he realized what Wade just had done, his stomach began to prickle.

He slowly bent forward and turned in Wade's arms until he was able to look at the other man. The man that was finally not hidden behind his mask, but fully exposed to Peter's eyes. Holding his breath, Peter studied the merc's entire face for the first time.

Wade refused to open his eyes. He refused to see the disgusted rejection in Peter's expression.

After a moment Peter began to laugh.

"Are you serious?" he giggled and cupped Wade's cheeks with his hands. "You hid _that_ face away all this time?"

Startled by the ringing peals of laughter, Wade snapped his eyes open. Peter's face was red and blotchy, but split by a smile so bright that it could have rivaled the New York skyline at night. The merc was entirely dumfounded.

"People tend to do that when they look like an inside-out Totino's Pizza Roll," he stated hesitantly, blindly feeling for his mask.

"Maybe," Peter admitted. "But not when they have the most beautiful face I have ever seen, cancer-damage included in the calculation."

He softly brushed his thumbs over Wade's cheeks, still smiling in amusement.

This had been a mistake.

Wade winced. "Alright, now I know you're bullshitting me," he muttered. His trembling fingers finally touched the thick fabric of his mask and he quickly pulled it close to try and don it once more.

"Hey! No!" Peter grabbed Wade's face tighter and refused to pull his hands away. "I'm being completely honest with you! Your face is gorgeous!"

"Pull the other one, it's got bells on it," the merc said defensively, locking eyes in challenge.

"Wade, I am fully serious," Peter assured, no trace of amusement left in his voice. "I'm sorry if you got this the wrong way. But I do love your face. You can sell me over to Oscorp if I'm lying."

"Don't even joke like that, Peter," Wade mumbled. "And uh, thanks for…you know, not puking." He slowly set the mask back down and trailed his hand up to rest behind Peter's neck. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the teen's forehead in silent appreciation.

"I would never puke from looking at you," Peter promised lowly. "I really meant what I said. I think your face is fucking gorgeous. If you had hit me up on the street without your mask, I would totally have given you your first session for free."

That of course was not true, but Peter hoped that it would bring across how much he liked Wade's looks.

The warmth of Peter's hands on his face felt like approval. And the soft honesty in the teen's gaze felt like benediction.

Wade hooked a finger through Peter's belt loop and tugged lightly. "Say the word and I'll stop," he whispered, overwhelmed by emotion. He leaned in close enough to share Peter's air.

"Then I won't say anything," Peter muttered back and pulled Wade down into a kiss.

This time lips met lips and the feeling set a firestorm ablaze in Peter's insides. Wade's lips were soft and yet, at the same time, hard and uneven where scars and little wounds were digging their claws into the merc's skin. They tasted salty and sweet and wonderful and Peter wanted more of it. Only a few seconds after their lips had touched, he was pulling back again already to open his mouth a little and then go for Wade's lips again, sucking at them slightly and pressing his tongue against them.

Wade buckled beneath the livewire of enthusiasm that was Peter and slowly pulled them down to the bed so that the teen lay sprawled across his body. He brought one hand up to cup the base of Peter's head and lightly traced the kid's spine all the way down to the generous swell of his buttocks.

Peter grunted softly and pressed himself against Wade's body. He was far better at this physical communication than he was with words, as he had worked in it for the last couple of months, and so he was a lot more comfortable now that they were done talking. Still this was a new form of physical contact that Peter wasn't familiar with yet and so he was far more excited than usual.

He tried to slip his tongue between Wade's lips to get the man to open his mouth. He wanted to taste it, to feel it, to bite and suck and melt with it. Some of his clients had bitten his lips before, but no one had ever kissed him like that - of course not, since Peter had forbidden it. But now he wanted to explore every single nuance and, being the impatient bundle of passion that he was, he wanted it right away.

Wade pulled back slightly. "Hey, I'm not going anywhere," he whispered in response to the desperate fervor. With that, he rolled them such that Peter's back rested on the bed, Wade pressed tightly against his side. He traced one flushed cheek with his thumb and supported himself on his elbow as he threaded their legs together.

"Just relax, Baby Boy, I've got you."

Wade pressed their lips together once more, but in something softer, more controlled. He gently ran his tongue along Peter's parted lips and chased the taste of tears and acceptance.

Peter gave another low grunt, but didn't protest. He was okay with Wade taking the lead, since Wade had proven to know what he was doing and was certainly better in kissing than Peter was. So he just placed his hand at the back of Wade's head and pressed his legs together around the merc's.

The dichotomy of Peter's quiet capitulation and eagerly roaming hands was a heady mix.

Wade entwined their tongues together in a slow slide that shot a pang of arousal straight to his loins. He mapped his companion's mouth with long, leisurely strokes and urged Peter to do the same as he withdrew.

Peter began to breathe heavily from the kissing alone. His head shot forward as Wade was pulling his back to not let the kiss break and he all too willingly began to let his own tongue roam the inside of Wade's mouth now. It still tasted a bit like pancakes with maple syrup and Peter tried to lick every tiny bit of this taste away to savour it.

The kiss was every bit as perfect as Wade had imagined.

After allowing Peter a moment of tender exploration, the merc closed his lips in a tight O and sucked hard on his tongue. As Peter retracted in surprise, Wade pressed against the back of his neck and literally stole his breath.

Peter shivered and slung his arms around Wade to press their bodies together in excitement. He had always thought kissing to be something rather tender and romantic, maybe lovingly passionate at its best. But Wade right now taught him that there was so much more to it than just that. And Peter enjoyed every second of it.

"Shit," Wade muttered, pulling away to marvel at Peter's swollen lips. "And here I thought I couldn't want you any more." He brushed a stray strand of hair from the teen's forehead and placed a chaste peck there. His heart was fit to burst with affection.

Peter laughed and softly shoved Wade's chest.

"You can have me any way you want now," he announced, letting his foot slide up Wade's shank. "But I want you naked this time. No clothes. Just your beautiful, bare body. Is that okay?"

All of the warmth and longing that had been building inside of Wade tangled in a strangle hold around his throat. "Yeah, um, maybe we should turn the lights out first?" he choked out.

"But I wanna see you," Peter pouted. "I want to see your big, hard abs and your firm ass and that really pretty face of yours. Even though you don't seem to believe me that I really find it attractive."

Wade groaned at the dime store one-liner. "That was terrible, Peter, even for you," he stated with a laugh. Thankfully, the off-color humor was enough to dissuade much of the mounting insecurity. This was just Peter. Beautiful, accepting, Peter.

The merc reluctantly untangled himself from Peter's embrace to sit up and tear his shirt over his head. The tight garment caught on the bulge of his lats, but was dislodged with a vicious squirm.

The teen outright gaped at him.

"Okay, shit," he whispered and propped himself up on his elbows. "That's even better than my wettest dream. That's like… an ocean where I was imagining a lake."

Grinning shyly, Wade leaned in for another searing kiss and retreated just as quickly as he had come. "Baby, you ain't seen nothing yet. Lucky for you, you won a free ticket to the gun show," he teased, flexing his biceps.

Peter gave an exaggerated squeal and covered his face with one hand.

"Oh no!" he whined in a fake falsetto. "I can't take this much masculinity! Oh my God, all these muscles! What am I gonna do!"

"Huh, here I've got a swooning damsel and we haven't even gotten to the good stuff," Wade teased. He tugged at Peter's shirt pointedly. "And you are way too overdressed for the kind of Bodice-Ripper I have in mind."

"You think?" Peter smirked. He sat up and raised his arms above his head so Wade could free him of his shirt.

The merc swung a leg over to straddle Peter's hips and eased the thin slip of cotton up over his head, discarding it on the floor. He admired the kid's strong shoulders and slid his fingers through his hair. It felt just as smooth and fluffy as Wade had imagined.

"You are too good to be true."

Peter smiled fondly and shook his head.

"I'm 100% real," he assured. "And I'm just a kid that fell for the right guy."

"Oh, I don't know if I'm that. But for you, I can try to be," Wade whispered. He looped his massive arms around Peter's neck and rolled his hips against his lover's bulging pants front.

"You've already proven it," Peter replied before Wade's movement forced him to moan. He wrapped his arms around Wade's back and held on tightly, looking the merc in the face with parted lips.

And if that wasn't an invitation, Wade didn't know what was. He drove his hips forward once more and sunk into the warmth of both Peter's embrace and his lips. The taste of him was addictive.

Wade deepened the kiss until they overbalanced and fell to the bed, laughing.

Still grinning, Peter ran his hand up Wade's back and used his other hand to pat the larger man's ass.

"I like that," he stated. "I like you on top of me. I like being trapped beneath this massive heap of sexy muscles. Also I can grab your ass like that. That's a nice side-effect, too."

The last vestiges of crippling self-doubt were drowned out in that instant by the honest admiration in Peter's statement. Wade stooped down and peppered kisses along the kid's jawline before crawling backwards off of the bed. "Off," he ordered, tugging at the cuff of Peter's pants while rooting through the drawer of the bedside table and exchanging his pistol for a bottle of lubricant.

Peter obeyed and opened his jeans to work them down to his ankles, together with his boxers. With one swift motion, he got rid of both of the pants and also his socks and tossed everything to the floor beside the bed.

"Done," he then let Deadpool know.

Wade took a moment to admire the artful spread of youthful exuberance on his bed. "You know, you take my breath away each and every time I see you," he admitted, absently tossing a bottle of lube onto the comforter. He traced his thumbs reverently along the valley of muscle leading to Peter's flushed cock and down the divots of his toned thighs. Nomadic kisses followed the trail of his fingers.

Peter's body winced and jerked slightly under each kiss, accompanied by low sighs every now and then. It felt so good to fully give in to the affection instead of being on alert all the time and forbidding every intimate contact. This wasn't business or plain arousal, this was something more and it felt so amazing.

Pressing one last kiss to Peter's knee, Wade backed up a step and pulled over a wooden chair. He sat down on the edge and reached into his sweatpants to give his straining cock a much-needed stroke. "I want to watch you prep yourself this time, babe," he stated, voice husky.

Peter looked over at him, a surprised look on his face. Then he shrugged and sat up.

"Alright, sure," he said and grabbed the lube. "How exactly do you want it? My ass full front? Turned to the side so you can see both my ass and my face? Tell me what you want and you'll get it, Pervpool"

"No, no porno acting. Just how you are is fine," Wade said, punctuating his words with another tug. Before, he had insisted on preparing Peter because it was the only moment of intimacy that was freely given. But now he had a chance to watch and learn how the kid touched himself. He had time to study exactly how to take him apart.

If he weren't already bursting at the seams, that thought alone would have had him harder than Ceyuan haijing Algebra.

"Uhm… okay," Peter shrugged. He opened the bottle and generously coated three of his fingers before he placed the bottle beside him and rolled over onto his stomach. He bedded his cheek on the blanket and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to relax. Then he let his middle finger slip inside of himself.

He was very used to this and so his movements were experienced and efficient. He associated it with business and business meant to be good and quick - unless someone like Wade paid him for several hours, of course. So for him preparing himself was more of a task than something to enjoy.

Soon he added his index finger and lifted his hip a little to meet his own fingers. He began to thrust it a bit to make his erection rub against the sheets. The friction drew a little gasp from him. Increasing force and speed of his movements, he finally added his third finger, moaning at the feeling. A few more thrusts and he clawed at the sheets with his free hand, breathing heavily and grunting from each move.

Slowly opening his eyes, he searched for Wade's gaze. "I'm ready for you," he announced in a seductive whisper.

Wade stood and shucked his sweatpants in the same motion, letting his cock slap his stomach with a sharp clap. He kicked the pants off completely and strode over to the bed.

"Yeah, no. Let's try this again," he muttered. The clinical way Peter had gone about preparing himself was incredibly telling. Sighing, the merc knelt on the bed and urged Peter to flip over onto his back. He settled in next to him, head propped up on one hand, and ran his other palm down Peter's chest and stomach.

"I want you to let go. Enjoy yourself. This isn't the fuckin' Kentucky Derby; there's no prize for gettin' to the finish fastest," he chided softly. In an attempt to buffer his reproach, Wade guided Peter's hand back down to the junction of the teen's legs. "Close your eyes and show me how you would open me up for the first time."

Peter frowned a little and gave a low grunt.

"But preparing myself is boring," he grumbled. "There's not much to enjoy about that. And now I'm worked open already anyway, so what's the point?"

Wade just stared at him, head canted. "You think I got magic fuckin' fingers or something? Everything I've done to turn you into a moaning puddle-o-Peter you can do for yourself…probably better. It doesn't take Dr. Strange to find the prostate, Baby Boy," he drawled, holding up his pinky and index finger comically. He forewent the joke in order to twine his fingers with Peter's and press as close to Peter's side as a second skin. "Follow my lead," he whispered then suckled on the kid's earlobe while swirling their joint index fingers around Peter's entrance.

"Ugh, but why-" Peter began, but then swallowed all of his reluctance down and just gave in with a sigh. Wade was right, of course. He could make himself feel good if Wade could make him feel good. He had just never done this to please himself, only to make himself ready to go for his clients, and so this was new to him. But all of this was new to him, so why not just give it a try.

"Because apparently we can't help but to push each other's boundaries," Wade stated in a hushed voice.

The teen gave an amused snort. Closing his eyes and relaxing again, he then concentrated on Wade's guidance and began to move his own finger along with his partner's.

"That's perfect, babe," Wade praised. "This right here is a hot bed of nerves. Take your time with it and just let yourself enjoy the sensation," he continued, encouraging Peter to circle the still-tight pucker of his anus.

"Mhyeah, I know," Peter muttered. He went on moving his finger along with Wade's, trying to concentrate on the touch and at the same time to relax into it and not to become impatient. The slight pressure around his entrance was teasing, but not yet enough.

"Now, curve your finger and press in slow and smooth. That's right. Focus on my voice, think about how I'm going to take you apart until you can't even remember your own name. But you'll remember mine, won't you? You'll be screaming it, after all," Wade purred as he felt the tight heat of Peter's anus clutch at their paired fingers. When he felt the band of muscle relax against the sizeable intrusion, he encouraged Peter to introduce his middle finger with the simple command of "more."

Peter obeyed every order Wade gave, gasping at the feeling of being filled by three fingers. The merc's words made him shudder softly and the excitement they caused inside of him suddenly made their fingers feel even better. He eagerly began to buck his hips a little.

Wade shifted so that he could change the angle of his wrist. He eased himself out of Peter's body in favor of placing his thumb against the short stretch of skin between the teen's anus and scrotum. "This is the perineum. A little heavy petting on some people, and this bad boy can get you just as close to heaven as the direct route," he instructed, generously massaging the tiny patch. "It just takes a little experimentation to figure out what you like."

Peter's body arched from the sudden sensation and he moaned out loud. That felt _amazing!_ He clutched the sheets with his free hand and began to move his hips and fingers against each other intensely.

"Fuuuuuck," Wade groaned as he ground his own straining erection into Peter's sweaty thigh. "Yeah. Fuck. Okay…now crook your fingers like you're telling someone to come on over and let me know when you press against a spot that makes your toes curl."

Peter was too out of breath to answer, but he did as he was told, halting his hips to make it easier for his fingers to move. Suddenly he jumped and screamed out, shivering immediately after from the sudden wave of intense lust that rolled over him. If that wasn't the right spot, then Peter didn't know. But he knew the sensation quite well from Wade and so he was pretty sure he was doing it right. Gasping for breath, he began to thrust his hips against his hand once more, starting to rub his fingers over the same spot over and over again.

The sight of the blush high on Peter's cheeks was enough to make Wade rut against the teen's thigh with intent. Sticky precome marked the path of his cockhead as it dragged between the sweat-slick press of their bodies. "You're doing so unbelievably good, kid. Jesus, you look so sweet spread out like this," he moaned aloud. Despite his own blinding arousal, Wade managed to continue massaging Peter's scrotum and perineum one-handed while Peter thrust his fingers into himself with reckless abandon.

The teen squirmed and writhed underneath Wade's and his own fingers, making the bed sheets ruffle his hair even more as he threw his head around.

"Wade," he whined, almost out of breath. "Please, I need you, Wade. Please! Please take me now, I - AH! _Please!_ Please take me, Wade, I want you now!"

"Soon, but not yet. Now stroke your dick too. I want to watch you come, Baby Boy," the merc growled, sucking a light rosette just beneath Peter's collar bone. He was so close to his own release that he had to struggle to still his hips.

Peter moaned in response and released the sheets to wrap his fingers around his cock and pump it frantically. His thumb flipped up to brush over the tip repeatedly and together with the pressure against his prostate, it had Peter fall apart into a sweaty, moaning, writhing mess.

He wanted to tell Wade that he was coming, but the words got stuck in his throat and so instead he gave a pitiful, choked scream and jerked up as he shot his come all over his chest and lower body.

The graceful arc of fluid splashed across Peter's stomach like a Jackson Pollock painting and sent Wade crashing headlong into the breakers of orgasm soon after. He shifted his hand and held on tightly to Peter's waist, burying his face into the kid's shoulder with a strangled moan.

Peter rode out his orgasm, panting heavily, until he finally collapsed back onto the bed. His legs and hands were shaking and he needed a while to come down again from the height his orgasm had catapulted him to.

"Shit," he then whispered and wiped the sweaty strands of hair from his forehead. "You can actually make me come without hardly any effort. That's definitely a super-power."

Humming, Wade rolled half on top of him and kissed him long and slow. "Just wait until you get a load of my super penis," he whispered when they finally parted, then broke into peals of laughter.

Peter laughed as well and lightly smacked Wade over the head.

"You're such an idiot," he stated, giggling. "Daftpool would have been a much better name for you."

"Nice! I'll have to remember that for when we start our techno band," Wade quipped. He tossed a sheet over his shoulders like a cape and strode towards the bathroom. He came back quickly, clutching the sheet closed and carrying a couple of damp hand towels. With swift, sure strokes, he wiped away the evidence of their release and offered a soapy cloth to Peter for his hands.

"Thanks," Peter smiled and took the towel to clean his fingers. While doing so he studied Wade's figure standing in front of the bed.

"Damn, you're a walking orgasm," he hummed and threw the towel at the merc.

Wade caught it deftly and tossed it onto the abandoned chair. "Yeah, maybe, but in the wise words of Frankie Goes to Hollywood: Relax, don't do it, when you want to go to it. Relax, don't do it…" he sang off-key, crawling across the bed to kneel over Peter. He leaned down in a partial push-up until their noses nearly touched. "…when you want to come."

Peter grinned and took his lower lip between his teeth.

"Alright," he agreed. "Then I'll relax and _you're_ gonna do it. This way we'll both come and Frankie will be proud of us."

"Maha-hiya, guess what's happening now?" the merc continued to caterwaul, only stopping once he had freed Peter's lower lip and tugged it into his own mouth instead.

The teen giggled and wrapped his arms around Wade.

"You're a terrible singer," he informed the man above him before he snatched at Wade's lips again with his own mouth.

Gasping in mock offense, Wade locked his arms and rocked forward to place his knees between Peter's with a small hop. He sat back and pulled those long legs up and over his folded thighs. "You take that back. My voice is like a choir of fat, baby angels."

"Fat baby angels with whooping cough," Peter corrected. "Not meant for singing. You should rather use it for moaning my name in my ear."

Wade slicked up his renewed erection with a healthy dousing of lube and pulled Peter's hips further up his thighs until the man was pressed into the fold of his body. "I think I can manage that," he said huskily, as he lined himself up with one hand and pressed his swollen glans against Peter's hole.

"Oh, can you?" Peter asked back with a gasp. He slung his legs around Wade's body, closing them to pull the merc tighter against himself and force him to slide inside of Peter further. "Cause I really want that… Want you to come with my name on your lips while I come with yours…"

The merc bent double and pressed forward slowly until he could go no further. Peter's body relaxed beneath him like a dream. "Fuuuck yes," he groaned.

Peter moaned back in return and pressed Wade's body tight against his own. Once again it felt like Wade was completing him, like their bodies were only whole when they were one with each other, tangled and joined.

"Kiss me," he whispered. "I want to taste your lips…"

And Wade did, fervently and with every ounce of passion that he could possibly channel into the slick dance of their tongues. He cocooned Peter in his muscular arms and held on tightly as he rocked his hips and devoured everything that the teen had to give. The wet slap of lube and flesh served as accompaniment to the rhythm of Peter's near frantic breaths.

The combination of both Wade's cock and tongue moving inside of his body and the way Wade held him cradled in his strong physique was bringing Peter up into spheres of lust he never had experienced before. This wasn't only the filthy, raw passion of arousal and physical longing. This was something far more, far beyond that. Something emotional. Something deeper.

He held on tight to Wade's back and allowed himself to get completely lost in their heated kiss. His body burned in a white fire, his own flames dancing together with Wade's, and he rapidly got consumed by the heat until his abdomen became the seat of the flame, ready to burst into a world-shattering explosion.

Wade slid a hand beneath Peter's lower back and encouraged him to arch up and press his dick even more snugly between them. Everything about this was on the verge of too much. Too much pressure around his rapidly thrusting cock, too much heart-shattering longing, too much hope. He broke the kiss and canted his hips so that the thick flare of his cockhead slammed into Peter's prostate with each and every undulation. "Babe, please, I'm not going to last," he moaned into Peter's ear.

"Me neither, "Peter panted back, shivering from Wade's hot breath against his ear. "I want you to come together with me… I want to feel you filling me up while I come, Wade…"

And just that breathy little statement was enough to pull Wade's scrotum up tight and shove him off of the precipice. He pistoned his hips frantically and miraculously managed to squeeze his arm between them to take Peter in hand. "Peter, Peter…" he gasped like a mantra as the first pulse of release filled the body beneath him.

Peter responded with a shaky moan and clawed at Wade's back as his own orgasm hit him so hard that it knocked the breath out of his lungs. His walls clenched around Wade's pulsing cock, welcoming the splashes of hot come that were pumping inside Peter's core. His own release shot all over Wade's and his own chest and stomach, smearing between them with every move. Peter hoarsely repeated Wade's name over and over again as every wave of pleasure made him jerk and convulse in the other man's arms until he was completely spent and bonelessly hung from Wade's massive body.

For a long moment they simply reveled in the glow of endorphins and mutual acceptance.

Wade finally garnered the energy to lift his head just enough to engage Peter in a long, languid kiss. How he had gotten so lucky he would never know.

Finally surfacing for air, the merc pulled a pillowcase off and used it to tenderly wipe down Peter's trembling stomach.

Peter smiled softly, his eyes already almost closed. The agitation of the last days had left him and he suddenly felt contentedly tired.

"Thanks," he managed to mumble, voice heavy with mounting sleepiness.

"No, thank _you_ ," Wade responded. He maneuvered them both to lay down fully on the bed, beneath the comforter, and pulled Peter's back up against his chest. The weight of Peter in his arms was every bit as beautiful as he had imagined.

"Goodnight, Baby Boy," he whispered.

Smiling widely, already half asleep, Peter snuggled against Wade's body and let his warmth wrap around him like a blanket.

"Night, Wade," he muttered back. Then sleep took him away completely, safely held in Wade's loving embrace.

Notes:

We stumbled across these songs when we were still planning the fic and thought that they fit the two perfectly. Now the songs finally fit the story we have so far as well, so here you go. Enjoy them! ^_^

Peter's song: Is There Somewhere  
Wade's song: Coming Down

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

Peter woke up wrapped in Wade's arms. They had moved during their sleep, so they were completely tangled and Wade's body was partly lying on top of Peter. It was the first time the teen woke up in someone's embrace and the unfamiliar situation made him a little uncomfortable. He didn't know what to do. Should he wake Wade up? Should he lie there and wait until Wade woke up by himself? Should he try to leave without waking him? This was awkward as hell.

He used the time while he was waiting for an epiphany on what he should do to think about last night. Apparently he and Wade were a couple now. At least to him it felt like Wade would be expecting that. He didn't really know though what he himself would call their current relationship. He had never been in love and he had never had a relationship before, so he didn't know what it would be or feel like or how to behave. Maybe he should just wait and see how Wade would act and then adapt his behavior? What did he himself want? He just wasn't sure. His own emotions confused him.

He turned his head to look at the man sleeping somewhere beside, beneath and on top of Peter at the same time and slightly gnawed at his lower lip. Somehow he was a bit nervous about what would happen when Wade woke up, what Wade would do and say and how he would behave around Peter now. What if Peter was uncomfortable with it? What if they looked at this new relationship between them differently? Peter had left his known terrain and had entered something he didn't understand. All of this made him very uneasy.

Finally he couldn't stand it anymore and placed a hand on Wade's arm to shake him slightly.

"Wade," he tried to make himself be heard. "Wade, wake up."

"G'way," Wade grumbled, nuzzling into Peter's hair and going still once more.

"Ugh," Peter grunted. He tried to change his position to be able to shove Wade off of him. "Wake up, you sperm whale! Come on!"

"Don't wanna," the merc mumbled in return as he latched onto Peter more tightly.

"For Christ's sake," the kid groaned. He struggled and kicked and shoved to somehow free himself from Wade's vice-like embrace. "This is illegal restraint, man! Let go of me!"

Refusing to budge, Wade grinned and took the light kicks with grace. "But it's soooo hard," he drawled while grinding his morning wood against Peter's buttocks.

"Good," Peter grumbled. "Hard things break better." He wasn't really angry, just a bit annoyed. He wasn't used to waking up and having to deal with someone already. Especially not someone like Wade.

Sighing, the merc retracted his limbs from where they had unintentionally snaked around Peter in the night and cradled the teen's jaw. "Good morning," he greeted, then tenderly brushed their lips together.

"Mmmorning," Peter replied after the soft kiss. The touch of their lips calmed him somehow, but he still was a bit nervous and unsure about how to deal with this entire situation.

Spears of afternoon light pierced the blinds and cast Wade's scars in sharp relief as he sat up and stretched. His shoulders popped alarmingly in the quiet of the morning. "Why is waking up so fucking hard?" he whined with a yawn.

"I don't know," Peter replied, eyeing Wade covertly. "I woke up just fine, in the limbs of a giant boa constrictor."

"Boa constrictors don't have limbs, Baby Boy," Wade retorted, then flopped back to the bed.

"This one does," Peter stated. He turned his head to the side and looked at the man beside him. "I think there are still some of the pancakes left," he mused after a moment. Partly because he was hungry, partly because he didn't know what else to say.

Shaking his head, Wade propped himself up on his elbows. "Those things have probably already established their own ecosystem by now. I'll make us some fresh. And thinking as hard as you are right now can't be good for your health," he observed. He motioned with his head for Peter to scoot closer. "C'mere."

Peter frowned and twisted his lips. Had it been that obvious that he had been thinking about something? Wade already seemed to know him better than anyone had ever done. Except for Aunt May, maybe,

He sighed and scooted over, bedding his head on Wade's chest.

"I'm fine," he claimed.

"And I'm the queen of England," the merc drawled in return. He smoothed back some of the wild tangles in Peter's hair. "You aren't the only one freakin' out a bit right now, kid. I just happen to have a lifetime of experience in hiding my shit."

Peter gave a low grunting sound. "I just never was intimate with anyone and I have no fucking clue how this works now," he admitted.

"Eh, the fact that you're talking to me and not chucking me off the roof is a good first step. But in all seriousness, it works however you want it to. To be honest, I figured you would be long gone before now, so you've already exceeded _my_ expectations," Wade said with a sardonic chuckle. "Just relax and do what makes you feel good. And please, feel free to stick a boot up my ass if I ever overstep my bounds. On second thought, Spidey toes wiggling in my nethers may just encourage me," he teased. This was nice. The warmth of another sharing his bed was a luxury that he hadn't experienced for quite some time.

"Sorry for the roof-thing," Peter muttered with an eye-roll. "It's your own fault for stalking me, though." He turned around until he lay on his back and placed his hand on Wade's lower arm.

"I just don't know," he went back to being serious. "I don't know what makes me feel good. I don't even know what I want. I just… somehow feel good around you."

A renewed burst of longing bloomed bright and warm in Wade's chest. Peter's admission planted the seeds of hope, something that he hadn't felt for quite a long time.

"Well then, Petey, we'll just take it day by day," he replied softly. "But I'll tell you one thing that I do know: there's nothing confusing about pancakes. C'mon, let's grub." He planted a chaste kiss on Peter's brow and rolled over him like a steamroller, pulling the blankets with him until he fell over the side with a solid thunk.

Peter groaned in resigned annoyance and tried to hit Wade when he rolled over him.

"Separated beds, from now on and forever," he determined as he sat up. "Also huge fluffy rugs in front of your bed, you stupid baby."

"Separate beds? That's not fair!" floated up from the tangled mass of comforter on the floor.

"Yep. Sorry," Peter said as he scooted over to the edge of the bed. "You apparently can't respect my personal space. One week in a shared bed with you and I'll look like a scrunched up juice box."

Wade inch-wormed in a circle and tried to pursue Peter's feet, his bald head the only thing visible poking out of the linens. "How can you be so cruel?" he cried.

"Oh my GOD, you're the weirdest weirdo to ever weird!" Peter shrieked and grabbed a pillow to bat at Wade with it. "Off! Get off, you oversized tapeworm! Get yourself something else for breakfast!"

Guffawing hard enough to bring tears to his eyes, Wade collapsed to the floor. Sacrificing his pride was well worth dissuading Peter's insecurities and fears. He shifted inside of the blanket cocoon, naked as the day he was born. Perhaps the silliness wasn't just for Peter, he thought idly.

"No can do, Petey-pie! You're like a potato chip, can't stop at just one taste," he crowed, shuffling across the floor surprisingly quickly for a full-grown man wrapped in a blanket burrito.

"Aaaah, no! Get lost, you freak! HELP!" Peter threw the pillow at Wade as he jumped backwards and then turned around to hurry over to the door. He made sure though that he wasn't too fast for Wade to stay on his heels.

"Heeeeelp! Deadworm on the loose!" he screamed and tore open the door.

Peter's exclamation gave Wade the brilliant idea of bursting into The Worm with lightning fast undulations that more than doubled his speed. His ribs protested the abuse vehemently, but the bare buttocks trotting down the hall in front of him were reason enough to ignore the pain.

Peter cast a look over his shoulder, squealed and tried to escape into the master area.

"Nooo!" he screamed to no one in particular. "Heeelp meee! I'm being pursued!"

As they tore through the front hall, the entryway door clicked open. Jarvis stepped in hesitantly and glanced around, raising an eyebrow at the rapidly approaching tableau.

"Good afternoon, sir," he said dryly.

"Jarv!" Wade squealed in greeting from his blanket burrito.

Peter gave a surprised shriek and jumped into his room to hide. A lot of men had seen him naked, but he hadn't been prepared for Wade's butler to suddenly burst in on them chasing each other through the house. Especially not while being a caterpillar and its naked prey.

Wade watched Peter slip past with a bemused smile then glanced up at his geriatric butler. "Oh, thank goodness you're here! There's a stack of pancakes on the table that may or may not have evolved sentience over the past twelve hours and there's dried jizz all over the couch. I mean all-fucking-over. It may or may not be salvageable. Seriously… bucketfuls," he stated proudly from the floor.

Jonathan simply stared for a long moment and then pinched the bridge of his nose. "Is sir's… companion… even of legal age to consent?" Working for Deadpool was trying at the best of times but the debacle on the floor in front of him was simply beyond his ability to grasp.

"What the shit, Jarvis? That's ageist! And for your information, he turns nineteen next summer," Wade huffed from his duvet tortilla wrap.

"I would like to remind sir that it is still currently mid-summer of _this_ year," the butler retorted as he toed the blanket with his loafer.

"What am I, a fucking time wizard? I don't know how this shit works! If I weren't tied up right now I would so put you in butler-time-out for your sass," the merc snarled as he writhed about on the carpet for show. "Peter! Peter, come save me! Jarvis is being a dick and taking advantage of my moment of weakness," he yelled towards the nearby bedroom door.

"Good job, Jarvis," Peter called back. A moment later he appeared in the doorway in a shirt and boxerss, leaning against the frame.

"My condolences. Also for your job. And I'm turning nineteen _this_ summer, so I am fine. Although I definitely did _not_ give my consent to _this_."

He came over and nudged Wade with his bare foot. Then he held his hand out to the butler.

"Sorry you had to witness this. My name is Peter. I live here now. But no worries, I like to think I'm more sane than the blank-orito on the floor. Even though the circumstances of our first encounter speak against it."

Jonathan eyed him sidelong with a raised brow, appraising, then took the proffered hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Peter. That you were not, in fact, the… _blank-orito_ … gives credence to you as the bearer of sanity. And truly, I'm not sure anyone consents to sir's peculiarities," Jonathan drawled with an entirely blank expression. On the floor, Wade began to flail earnestly in a vain attempt to shed the linens. "You're in cahoots! Five seconds and you two are already in cahoots! I've been betrayed," he moaned dramatically.

Both men stared down at him, unimpressed. The butler sighed and released his firm grip from Peter's hand.

"My name is Jonathan. For reasons unbeknownst to myself, I serve as the caretaker of this residence. If you have any concerns or requests please do not hesitate to ask. Now, if you will excuse me, I will likely need to fumigate the dining room." With that, he strode down the hall much more spryly than expected.

Peter looked after him until he was out of sight.

"I like him," he stated. "Living here will become far more endurable with him around."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" the merc grumbled in return.

Peter looked down at the struggling blanket-monster at his feet and sighed. "Seems like you need a while more to get out of there. I'll go to the bathroom in the meantime and wash myself and get dressed properly."

Wade untangled the blankets and swiftly rolled to his feet in one graceful movement. He stepped close and settled one heavy arm over Peter's shoulders. "Alright, kid. Try the Jacuzzi in the master bath. It's out of this world," he invited, smiling softly. With that, he planted a kiss on the teen's forehead and retreated into his own room to wash up as well, and likely tug one out in the shower.

"Jacuzzi," Peter mumbled while looking after Wade. He would probably take a bath everyday as long as he would live here. Dang.

He turned around and vanished into his room to grab some proper clothes and his phone, and then went over to the master bathroom. There it was. The Jacuzzi. Oh, what an absolute dream!

Peter undressed and put on his playlist while the tub filled. Then he sank into the water with a loud and content sigh. Thaaaaat was the stuff. Oh God, he would never ever step out of this again.

Meanwhile, Wade hung his head in his room's generously sized shower and let the steaming spray flow over his shoulders. His skin healed the searing contact burns near instantly. He lathered himself up, imagining Peter's hands doing the same.

It was truly a marvel that the kid had accepted him so readily. In his gut, self-derision warred with the overwhelming evidence of Peter's approval. The need to be wanted by the vivacious young man was so heart-wrenchingly strong.

Wade turned down the heat and let his hands continue to wander. Taking his mostly flaccid cock in hand, he recalled the length of Peter's toned legs and how perfectly they had wrapped around his hips. Sweat had made the position slippery, but the teen's strength had been more than accommodating.

The merc gave his rapidly swelling dick a loose series of strokes within the soap-slick tunnel of his hand. He imagined picking Peter up and pressing his back against the shower-wall, entering him abruptly with one sharp snap of his hips. The kid would gasp and writhe against him, opening up so sweetly.

Wade braced one forearm against the wall and began to stroke himself in earnest. The technique lacked finesse of any kind, but the pain of friction was a welcome pleasure to add to the mix.

Peter would moan sweet nothings and spill between them with the shape of Wade's name on his lips. Then Wade would continue to drive into that pliant body until his own release built like a tsunami. He would mold himself up tight and kiss the kid so deeply that air was nothing but a distant memory.

Orgasm struck as quickly as a snake bite in the falling water. "Fuck, Peter," he moaned aloud as he spilled over his hand. For a long moment he caught his breath and watched the ropes of translucent come circle the shower drain in his post-masturbatory haze.

Finally, he turned off the water and walked over to his bed without bothering to dry off. He collapsed onto his stomach and found comfort in the scent of fruity shampoo. Yeah, he had it bad, alright.

At the same time Peter relaxed in the hot, bubbling water of the whirlpool, eyes closed and head laid back, listening to his music. It was insane how much had changed in the past hours alone. Only a few days ago he would have freaked out about Jonathan, afraid he could be a spy from Oscorp, here to snatch Peter away from under Wade's nose. Now, for the first time in what felt like ages, he was able to see a person as nothing more than a person. He felt so thoroughly secure and safe around Wade that his paranoia ebbed away like ice melting in the sun. Maybe Wade actually was his sun. Bringing back warmth to his frozen life.

As his thoughts wandered, they came to a point where they recalled last night's conversation, remembering Wade talking about the black box. Peter hadn't looked at the files on the thumb drive Wade had given him, but he had packed it when he had come here. He hadn't had the strength to do this. But maybe it was time now to face his demons and annihilate them. Together with Wade. The one and only person he had in his life.

Sighing, he opened his eyes and looked over to the doorway. Where was Wade even? He couldn't smell pancakes yet. Was he fine?

"WAAAADE?" he called. He made sure to not make it sound alarming because he didn't want Wade to worry. He wasn't sure though if it was possible to _not_ make Wade worry when he called.

Before Wade's name even had time to echo against the marble backsplash, the mercenary burst in through the doorway in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, katana's dual yielded. "You okay, kid?" he asked darkly, scanning the room.

Peter sighed and let his head drop back. Yep. It was impossible.

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine. I just wanted to know where you were. Sorry, I didn't mean to make you worry."

Wade couldn't help but smile as he lowered his weapons. That was probably the cutest thing he had ever heard. "No problem, Baby Boy," he responded warmly. Setting his swords on the counter, the merc made his way over and sat on the edge of the tub. "So, how's the bath?" he asked as he repeatedly rubbed his arms. It was still a little unnerving to be so exposed in front of Peter, especially in the light of day, but he was trying.

"Hot and whirly," Peter answered, raising his head again. "Want to join me for a while? Or did I interrupt your pancake-making or something?"

"Nah, I got caught up in fantasizing about this exact scenario. Except that in my fantasy I had a pretty epic mustache and there was a mariachi band," Wade retorted with a wink. He quickly shucked his loose pants and motioned for Peter to scoot forward. Once there was space, Wade slipped in behind him and pulled him back to rest against the merc's chest.

"If you had a mustache, I'd be out of here immediately," Peter informed him as he made himself comfortable. "Mustaches are horrible."

"Mustaches are the best," Wade countered. He looped his arms loosely around Peter's waist and nuzzled his neck. "Thanks for staying," he said softly.

"Of course I'm staying," Peter answered lowly and let his hand run over Wade's arm. "Thank you for letting me. Or rather for making me… I know I can be difficult and that it's hard to deal with me."

"Hey, stop stealing my lines," the merc teased as he finally leaned against the tub and settled. The jets sapped away the remaining tension from their bodies in a hail of gentle eddies.

"But that's fun," Peter retorted lamely. He softly caressed Wade's lower arm, silently working up the courage to ask what he wanted to ask.

"Hey," he finally managed to bring out. "Could we go through the files today? I want to know what's in there…"

The abrupt shift of topic brought Wade up short. He had honestly been so immersed in the newness of their shared intimacy that the files had completely slipped his mind. "Yeah, of course," he stated simply. He subconsciously pulled Peter tighter against his body, then planted a reassuring kiss against the teen's ear.

The soft touch made Peter shudder slightly.

"Thanks," he mumbled, relaxing a bit. "Maybe after breakfast…"

He didn't want to admit it, but he was afraid. He didn't know what he would be seeing, hearing, reading there, what he would learn and how much of it he maybe didn't even want to know. But he had to go through all of it. He couldn't let anything stay unclear. Or it would haunt him forever.

"Sure. On one condition: no matter what we find in there, know that I will single handedly rain fire and brimstone on every cocksucker who's ever so much as whispered your name. I don't give a flaming fuck; I'll tear the entire thing down for you, Peter," Wade stated, voice cold. With starkly juxtaposed tenderness, he tilted Peter's chin up and kissed him with all of the pent up passion and longing that had been burning in his chest since he met the young-man.

Peter wanted to answer, but he couldn't, given that Wade was practically consuming Peter's entire mouth with the searing kiss. It caused a hot feeling to rush down into his stomach, like a stream of fire that settled deep in his gut. He turned around to give Wade better access to his lips and placed his hand on the merc's cheek. He believed every word Wade had just said and he was certain that he would do anything in his might to protect and support Peter. Even though he was still nervous, he immediately felt a lot better than before.

Chest heaving, Wade pulled back and brushed stray water droplets from Peter's face. "You really are going to be the death of me," he pronounced in wonder.

Peter hummed and stroked Wade's cheek with his thumb. "Good thing you're immortal," he said.

The merc's stomach growled loudly enough to be felt against Peter's belly. "Immortal, but still kinda human in the annoying ways," he grumped. "Come on, let's go get something to eat. Any longer in here and you'll be pruny enough to give me a run for my money at the Freddy Krueger auditions," he stated with a self-deprecating laugh.

"We'll just audition as a couple," Peter commented and placed another kiss on Wade's scarred lips. "Lemme go, my zombie-groom."

Wade winced imperceptibly at the unintended slight, but laughed it off and placed his arms back along the marble tub sill. The water lapped against his pecs and bulging lats as he did so.

Peter frowned and grabbed Wade's cheeks to stop him from getting up.

"That was a fake laugh," he stated. "Don't you ever fake-laugh at me. You hear me? If I hurt you, tell me. How am I supposed to know what's off limits if you play everything off? Absolutely no jokes about your looks, understood. That was dumb of me, I'm sorry. You're beautiful and I adore your skin."

Unable to come up with a response, Wade just stared. And here he was supposed to be the perceptive one. "'Kay," he commented simply.

"No, not 'Kay'," Peter shook his head. "Promise. I want you to explicitly promise me to tell me whenever I hurt or upset you. Alright?"

"I, Wade Wilson, aka Deadpool, do solemnly swear to tell you, Peter Parker, aka Sex on a Stick, if you ever happen to hurt little ole me's feewings," the merc drawled, rolling his eyes. Before Peter could complain about the flippancy of his tone, Wade scooped him up out of the water and flung him over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. It was a casual show of strength just to shut the kid up. "Now then, breakfast for dinner!"

"Mph. Hey, wait! I wanna get dressed! This is spider-napping!" Peter protested, despite how turned on he was by the demonstration of power. Maybe Wade would also be the death of Peter one day.

"You're right, we don't want to give Jarvis a free show. The glory that is your ass may stop his heart for good," the merc grumbled good-humoredly. Wade deposited his payload's feet onto the floor and winked playfully as he wrapped a towel around his hips and started off down the hall.

Peter laughed and playfully threw another towel after Wade. Then he grabbed one to dry himself off and put on the clothes he had brought. When he was fully dressed, he switched off the music and then went in the direction of the kitchen, ruffling his hair.

By the time Peter arrived, Wade was already in the kitchen, suited fully and brandishing a spatula like a weapon. "I don't care what the box says, you've got to add an egg yolk and a tablespoon of sugar to the batter unless you want it to taste like the primary national export of Shitsville," Deadpool claimed, emphatically pointing at the bowl of batter. Jonathan simply leaned against the counter, arms crossed and entirely unimpressed. "Sir, may I remind you that I've been preparing meals since long before you were even in swaddling clothes. Perhaps you and your guest would prefer to retire in the den whilst I somehow manage this complex culinary feat."

"Jarvis, I swear to God!" Wade started to yell.

Peter leaned against the door frame, watching the two men argue with amusement. No way Jonathan was a spy or something like that. No one would stay with Wade for months and endure all of this just for a chance to get to Peter. Absolutely impossible.

"You need an arbitrator?" he asked from where he stood. "I'm willing to taste both of your pancake recipes and decide which one is better."

"Mine, obviously, you traitor!" Wade roared as he stamped his foot and barreled out into the den.

Jonathan watched him storm out of the kitchen with an amused smile. "He's a trying man, but a good one," he stated fondly.

Peter smiled as well and pushed himself off the frame. "Yes, he is," he confirmed. "He really, really is. I'll go calm him down. It's easy when he finds you attractive." With that he went to follow Wade into the den, leaving the kitchen to Jonathan.

"Ah, so that's what I've been doing wrong these past few years," the butler commented slyly as he returned to preparing the pancakes.

In the den, Wade was sitting on the floor surrounded by an AR-15 housing and a sundry of parts. He had deftly installed a new bolt and removed the trigger group in order to replace the shear in the time it took for Peter to enter the room.

"Aw, are you pouty?" Peter asked in a sweet voice and sank down to the floor on a free spot. "Pouty-Pouty-Pool? Canadians don't take it well when someone teaches them about pancakes, do they, huh?"

He took one of the gun parts that was lying next to him and held it in front of his face to study it curiously.

Wade stopped what he was doing in favor of glaring at Peter silently.

The teen grinned at him in return. "Pouty-Pool," he sing-songed. "Can I cheer you up somehow, Mr. Grumpy-Moose?"

Violently reassembling the trigger group, Wade shuffled so that his back faced Peter. He fought mightily to suppress his grin.

"Aaaaw," Peter drawled. "Poor Dead-Boo." He crawled over so he was back in Wade's field of vision. "Maybe I can distract you from your sorrow. If I do this?" He sank down onto his back, making sure to arch it and bring his body into an obscene curve.

"Or this?" His eyes half lidded, he guided the gun-part down his lips, over his bared throat and down his chest towards his stomach. "I can lick it if you want," he offered hoarsely as he reached his belly button.

The trigger group fell from Wade's boneless fingers. However, before he could teach Peter a lesson in the joy of insta-boners, Jonathan casually peeked in the doorway. "Dinner, sirs," he announced.

"We're still at the start, Jonathan," Peter informed the butler without even granting him a look. "Thank you. Maybe you should cover your eyes and ears for a while."

"Better yet, take a week's worth of paid vacation. Have fun sorting your tube socks. Your pancakes suck," Wade called out with a backhanded wave. Jonathan merely stared up at the ceiling for a long moment in silent prayer and turned to go.

"Alright, Shnookums, where were we?" Deadpool asked rhetorically before sliding his gloves down Peter's clothed thighs. "Oh, that's right," he began as he pulled out his sidearm, ejected the magazine, and cleared the chamber. "You were about to help me clean my barrel." At that, he held the emptied handgun at the level of his dick, angled up.

Peter laughed and turned around to lie on his belly, grinning up at Wade.

"You want me to lick _that_ instead?" he asked, letting his crossed ankles dangle in the air.

"Not lick. Suck it like you mean it," Wade retorted huskily.

"Oh, I'm gonna suck you dry, babe," Peter announced. He pulled himself closer to open Wade's fly. "I won't stop until you beg me to."

Deadpool made a 'tsk'ing sound and planted the tip of his barrel on Peter's lips. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Who said I'm going anywhere? I'm rather concerned about you coming right now," Peter purred back.

Wade grinned. If Peter wanted to role-play as the coy escort, he would be more than happy to oblige him as Deadpool.

"Oh, I don't think you've quite earned the goody bag yet," Wade stated as he smacked Peter's hand away from his fly and rubbed the sizable tent in his pants front. "As I recall, I told you to clean my barrel first." He pressed the pistol more firmly against Peter's lips. "Now suck," he ordered, every bit the ruthless mercenary in that moment.

Peter shuddered softly, turned on by the rough treatment and the harshness in Wade's voice. Why was he so aroused by this?

Locking his eyes on the white lenses of Wade's mask, he slowly opened his mouth and let the barrel slip inside of it. He closed his lips around it, halfway in, shivering slightly from the metallic taste. Then, still looking straight at Wade, he began to suck on it long and hard.

It wasn't possible to form an airtight seal around the heavy slide, causing each suck to slurp obscenely. Luckily this was one of the pistols that Wade had cleaned to within an inch of its life yesterday.

"That's right, kid. I want to be able to see my fucking reflection when you're through," he stated. The sight of Peter laying in front of him, enthusiastically fellating the weapon that was just as much a part of Wade as his own limbs had his dick so hard it ached from the pressure.

Peter only hummed as a sign of his willing obedience and closed his eyes to fully concentrate on the object inside of his mouth. Of course the gun couldn't feel the strong, intense sucks Peter gave it, but he knew that Wade was watching and that it turned the merc on immensely. So he gave his best to make the action look as hot and seductive as possible, rhythmically moving his head along with his sucks, making low humming sounds every now and then to indicate he was enjoying it.

Wade finished unzipping his fly and pulled out his mottled cock, giving it a couple of pumps in time with the bobbing of Peter's head. Arousal settled heavily in his groin, bordering on painful. When the need for relief finally grew to be too much, Wade took a fistful of Peter's hair and pulled him back, off of the gun. He instead positioned Peter's face on level with his weeping cock. "Alright, now get to work," he growled.

Peter grinned and lashed out his tongue to give the tip of Wade's erection a firm lick. Then he let all teasing go and took the head in his mouth. Hollowing his cheeks, he let the entire cock be sucked in until it was seated deeply inside of his throat. He swallowed around it a few times, then pulled his head back a little and began to bob it frantically, sucking hard each time he moved forward.

The moist pressure around Wade's cock was like the vice of heaven. Each swipe of Peter's tongue along the vein on the underside of his dick brought forth yet another smattering of bitter precome. Panting, Wade gripped Peter's hair with both hands. It was a struggle not to just press the teen down and buck into his throat until he choked.

Not that Peter would have minded.

As soon as Wade grabbed his hair, the former escort was sure that his partner was close, so he stopped moving his head back and forth and instead sucked Wade's dick deep into his throat again, swallowing around it hard. Then he let loose and moved his head back a bit, only to repeat the action all over.

Time stopped for the mercenary with each clench of Peter's throat. With building force, the first curls of orgasm locked his muscles tight, then exploded in his loins. He didn't realize that in the blinding moment of release he had given into the urge to press Peter down to take him fully. It was only as he pulsed deeply into his companion's throat one last time that he realized what he had done. "Oh, shit! Sorry, fuck, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" he panted in a mixture of concern and blissed out haze.

Coughing and laughing at the same time, Peter nodded and wiped his mouth.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he claimed, sitting up and rubbing his watering eyes. "It's all good, no worries. I take it as a compliment that you lost your self-control."

Wade chuckled and dragged his mask off. "What about you, Petey-pie? How can I thank you for the sexy version of getting my brains blown out?"

"Oh, I'm fine," Peter declined. "I don't need anything but some breakfast right now. Or late lunch. Or early dinner. Or whatever it actually might be."

He really was very hungry, but the truth was that he was too worked-up to give himself over to sexual pleasure. The looming reveal of the files set heavy in his mind and he couldn't let go of it. Fooling around with Wade was just pushing the entire issue a bit further away, but it was inevitable in the end and that knowledge wouldn't allow Peter to relax.

Frowning slightly, the merc rearranged Peter's hair into something more on the 'mussed' end of the spectrum as opposed to 'got in a fight with a turbine.'

"Sure, babe," he responded as he zipped his fly. "I guess we can go see what fresh new level of hell Jarvis whipped up and dubbed 'pancakes.'" He stood and cracked his spine before leaning down and offering Peter his hand.

"You know, if you care so much about the pancakes, just make them yourself and let poor Jonathan out of it," Peter suggested and grabbed Wade's hand. "Also what self-respecting Canadian uses a mix for his pancakes, anyways?"

"Poor Jonathan, my ass. Did he tell you that when I first hired him he replaced all of my Deadpool suits with the full line of Power Ranger costumes? He said that he thought I was getting ready for Halloween and that Bandai was a much more respectable company than my rip-off Marvel gimp suit. In January. Don't let the high-brow accent fool you. That old man is like the mummy's fucking curse," Wade muttered. "The joke was on him though, I made a killer Pink ranger."

He helped the chuckling teen off of the floor and led him through the minefield of gun parts as they made their way towards the dining room, fingers laced.

"Anyways," he continued conversationally, "the pancake mix is my own recipe. Stark lost a bet and started the company as a subsidiary of one of his distilleries. I just like giving Jarv shit."

Peter snorted. "Yeah, sure, of course. Tony fucking Stark markets your very own pancake recipe. I'm totally gonna believe that. Not."

Deadpool glanced back with a sly grin. "Wanna make a bet?"

"Sure. What are the stakes?" Peter shrugged, self-confident. There was no way Tony _Stark_ was producing Wade's pancake-recipe!

With a flourish, Wade pulled out a chair for Peter. As the kid took his place at the table, Wade leaned in close enough to whisper in his ear. "If I win, I want to shoot a sex tape. You in nothing but Hawkeye-initiative lingerie. Then I want you to deliver it personally to Barton. No mail, no sexting. Personal exchange only," he detailed seductively.

Peter raised his brows. "You want me to get fucked by you in some kind of Hawkeye-themed underwear, film that and then show it to the guy? Why? And where's my disadvantage?"

Wade stood up and repeatedly rocked his pelvis into the chair back. "How fucking perfect are you? Jesus!"

The teen laughed and directed a few hits somewhere behind his chair to give Wade a soft smack.

"If that's what you want when you win, I'm in," he announced. "But if I win, you will run around naked all day, so I can stare at you. And believe me, that's the milder punishment. I could also have you running around with a shirt that says 'Jarvis makes the better pancakes'."

Evading Peter's hand, Wade took his chair and served them both. "Ohhh…you are so very cruel, Baby Boy. Lucky for me, I've got this one in the bag," he retorted, amused.

"Of course you do," Peter confirmed in a sarcastic tone. Then he grabbed the maple syrup and poured it over his pancake.

"If that's really your recipe, why aren't you on the box, full front? With an apron with a maple leaf on it? And why aren't they called Deadpans or Poolcakes or something terrible like that?"

Wade snickered at the made-up brand names. "Because, contrary to popular opinion, I'm not a braggart," he stated with only a minor twitch of his lips. "Nah, who am I kidding. Tony wouldn't let me name the stupid thing on account of ruining people's appetites or something." Shaking his head good-naturedly, he shoved a pancake in his mouth. A moment later he grimaced and mumbled "Needs the goddamn egg yolk."

"And why," Peter went on and pointed his fork at Wade, "did you leave out the egg yolk if it's really your recipe!"

"You can't screw with the consistency like that! Plus, the preservatives would have tasted like ass. I figured even a dumbfuck could figure out how to mix the dry ingredients with an egg," the merc drawled, then shoveled another pancake.

"Well, is it described on the box?" Peter wanted to know. "In text and pictures? Because otherwise: No, they can't. Trust me, they can't."

Wade merely grunted noncommittally and tossed his fork on his empty plate with a clatter. To be honest, he hadn't even looked at the box since Tony first shoved the product design prototype under his nose. At the time, Deadpool had been actively healing from a hole punched through his gut by a Chitauri asshole, so the pancake directions hadn't exactly been his immediate priority. Stark was crafty like that.

Peter was slower in eating than Wade was, but he also ate less, so it evened out. After a big gulp of orange juice, Peter looked down at the table and his empty plate, realising that nothing was keeping them from looking at the files now anymore. Immediately his nervousness returned with full force.

"Uh, I'm gonna go brush my teeth, I guess," he mumbled, happy to at least have found a few more minutes of procrastination.

"Brushing your teeth after drinking orange juice? Really?" Wade sighed as he planted his chin on his fist, the picture of skepticism. "C'mere, kid," he requested as he eased out his chair and patted his muscular thigh.

"What's wrong with that?" Peter asked as he got up. He rounded the table and went over to Wade, letting himself sink down on his lap.

"For one, toothpaste and orange juice combine to make the taste of Satan's come. Two, it's just an escape tactic and you know it. I told you, I've got you Peter," Wade assured him. The merc wrapped his arms loosely around Peter's waist. "The worst has already come to pass. Nothing on those files can hurt you any more than it already has; I'm here to make sure of that."

"Satan was one of my clients once, his come tastes pretty awesome," Peter muttered, but the joke didn't make him feel any better. He sighed in defeat as leaned his head against Wade's.

"I know that you're with me and that you're gonna do whatever you can," he said, letting his fingers brush over the little edges of Wade's glove. "But there are things you can't protect me from, you know… You can't just shoot emotions with your big rifles or decapitate my pain. That's impossible. And I'm afraid of what those files will reveal to me. What if it's worse than the things I already know?"

"It may be. It may not. But whatever comes, I'm here for you and I can hold you together until the sting fades. You aren't alone anymore, sweetums. Whatever you see or hear doesn't mean shit, because you don't have to do it alone," Wade murmured.

"I know," Peter replied lowly. "It will just be so hard to lose them all over again…"

He sighed, throat tight, and turned around to hide his face against the side of Wade's neck.

There was only one way for Peter to move on with his life, and that was to rip the band aid clean off. But Wade wasn't callous enough to say it outright. And frankly, it would have been hypocritical to do so. Instead, he offered the quiet comfort of his arms and his strength.

"I know, Baby Boy, I know," he commiserated.

Peter allowed himself to just sit there in Wade's arms for a moment, letting the merc's warmth and support soothe him a bit. But the knot inside of his guts didn't go away and he had to admit to himself that protracting it only made it worse.

"Alright," he finally mumbled and sat up. "Let's get this over with."

Chapter 12

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"I'll actually go brush my teeth, now," Peter announced as they entered his room. Already on his way to the bathroom, he gestured over to the table. "My laptop's over there. You can boot it already if you like. By the way: I could use a new laptop. And a new phone. Half of New York has my number."

With that he entered the bathroom, leaving the door open so he could hear if Wade would say anything.

"Done and done, Babycakes," Wade responded cheerily. Peter's laptop was relatively archaic as far as technology went. Or perhaps Wade had been spoiled by the Stark pads that he was currently using as doilies in the library. He jabbed the power button with perhaps a bit more force than completely necessary and fidgeted until the operating system loaded. It would take forever to find Peter's porn stash at this rate.

One could hear spitting and running water and then the owner of the laptop appeared back in the room.

"Sorry, this thing is old," he apologized. "I bought it second-hand. It's unbreakable though, just a bit slow."

He went over to his nightstand and opened the drawer. There it was. The unimposing little gadget that turned Peter's stomach just by looking at it. It cost him quite some effort to grab it and walk over to the table with it.

"Here," he mumbled and held it out to Wade. "Stick it in. I know you're good at that."

"Oh, Petey. I'm just as good at catching as I am pitching," Wade retorted with a wink. Despite the affected levity of his response, he shoved the thumb drive home with a sense of finality.

"I never pitched, but that doesn't mean I can't learn," Peter commented as he sat down. He was so nervous that a huge lump seemed to block his throat. Swallowing was impossible and breathing was a struggle. His hands were shaking as he clicked to open the folder on the thumb drive.

Wade laid a heavy arm across Peter's shoulders and leaned against him in quiet support. "Deep breath, kid," he instructed softly.

A long list of files showed up on the screen. Peter did take a deep breath and scanned them quickly before scrolling back up to the start and clicking the first file. A research protocol popped up. Peter read over it, nervously biting his lower lip. As soon as he realized that it was nothing more than some basics on his father's experiments, he closed the file and opened the next.

The first few documents only were listings of experiments, research and ideas concerning the cross-genetic species project of Richard Parker. Peter would have loved to have a closer look at them to read what his father had been working on exactly, but he couldn't bring himself to do that right now. Those were not the files he was interested in at the moment. They could wait. He wanted to have a look at the black box recordings.

Finally, a few files in, the personal details of his parents popped up. Peter stopped and looked at the photos for a while.

"Haven't seen them in months," he mumbled. "Didn't take photos of them with me. Didn't dare to search for them online, even though I covered my tracks." He reached out and softly ran his fingertips over the screen. "My mum was really pretty, wasn't she…"

"Yeah, she's definitely a looker. Must be where you got it from," the merc responded with a fond, but sad smile. The soft contours of Peter's cheekbones and the cupid's bow of his lips were reflected in the image on the laptop screen.

"Yeah…" Peter muttered. He closed the file with trembling hands, swallowing hard. There was a pressure building up in his head that made his ears and temples hurt.

The next few files were videos of his dad talking about his research. Peter gave each of them a few seconds before he closed them again. He would watch them another time, when he could focus on what his father was talking about. Maybe then he would understand what was actually happening to him and how all of this had been possible.

Finally he came across an audio file. Two seconds in, Peter already knew it was the one from the plane's black box. The one that had recorded the last words of his parents and the circumstances of their death.

Without realizing it, Peter began to breathe faster.

Deadpool swiftly commandeered the mouse and paused the file. "Hey," the merc began, "you don't have to do this all in one go. How about you take a walk while I listen to this part and I'll just give you the cliffsnotes version?" he suggested in an attempt to save Peter from the pain that he knew was about to come.

"No, I want to do this," Peter determined. "I _have_ to do this… I need to listen to this with my own ears. Now. I can't run away from this anymore."

Taking a break would only bring more ideas and speculations up in his head that would drive him insane. He had to get this over with, or he would go nuts from the uncertainty and the possible data his brain came up with.

Without letting Wade comment on this, Peter hit Play once more and dragged the cursor away from the icon.

The mercenary leaned back and hummed his acceptance of Peter's decision. His arm slipped off of Peter's tense shoulders and he instead drew circles with his thumb on Peter's lower back.

"I found a safe place for us to spend the night at Lake Geneva," a female voice said through the speakers.

Peter gasped lowly, squirming in his seat uneasily. "That's my mum," he whispered. Suddenly his vision got blurry and he could hear his own heart beating in his ears.

"I deleted everything," Richard responded. "Though I'm sure they will have saved some of the files. But I made sure the most important parts were never saved on any of my monitored drives. It's only on this laptop and - …" He stopped for a few seconds. Then his voice sounded different than before, comforting and reassuring. "We're gonna be fine, Mary," he claimed.

"Did you see his face?" Mary asked. "He's never gonna understand."

Peter's guts turned into a tight, hot knot. He bit his lip so hard that it started bleeding.

"Mary, we've been through this," Richard tried to reason with his wife. "Our life, as we know it, is over. We're gonna spend every day from now on looking over our shoulders and never feeling safe. We can't do that to him."

"He's just a little boy," Mary sobbed.

"I know. I know," Richard assured. "It's going to be alright."

There was a pause. One could hear a door being shut. Peter's fingers hurt from how hard he dug them into his thighs.

Then a new voice could be heard on the recording. It was a man. "No rest for the weary, huh?"

Peter's father replied. "No, I'm afraid not."

"Occupational hazard, I guess. What is it you're working on?" Water was running in the background.

"Uh… just- just planning ahead," Richard answered. He somehow sounded concerned. "Do you think I could speak with the pilot?"

"Something you need?" the second man asked. "Perhaps I could help."

Then Peter's father again. "Oh, I'd just like to radio ahead and make sure everything's in order for when we land." A background noise. Suddenly the stranger sounded very dark and threatening.

"I think we both know that's not an option, Dr. Parker."

After that, all hell broke lose. One could hear Mary calling for her husband over and over again and rattling at a door. Apparently she was trapped somewhere. The stranger yelled at Richard, demanding him to hand over his laptop. Richard seemed to refuse, as a struggle could be heard.

"Mary!" he called out. Then a shot was fired. Peter jerked in his chair, biting his lip heavily again. Tears started to stream down his face.

There were more indefinable noises, then Richard spoke to his wife again.

"Mary. It's okay, it's okay, it's okay. I got you. Are you okay? Okay. I'm just gonna make you safe. It's done. Breathe. Mary?

Mary's response was so low that Peter couldn't understand it. He didn't dare to sob or sniffle to not miss anything going on on the recording, so his temples throbbed and his throat was shut so tightly that he felt like he would suffocate any second.

"Everything's fine," his father assured. "Hey, hey, hey. We're going to be alright, okay? Listen to me…"

Another fight broke loose without warning. After a moment, a few more shots were fired and one could hear Richard scream. Then a long, horrible silence followed. Finally the stranger spoke again, probably to another person, maybe on the phone.

"Yeah, I got it," he said. "I have the laptop. We should be able now to complete the project without Richard Parker. No, no, he's dead. He and his wife, both. I will leave the plane now. Mr. Osborn will hear from me soon."

Then the recording ended.

Peter sat erect in his chair, stiff as a poker. His eyes were glued to the screen, but he didn't see anything. Blood was still pounding in his ears and his throat was still shut tight. He was close to passing out.

He had just witnessed his parents dying. He had listened to them being killed, shot by Osborn's men. The desperate screams of his mother still echoed in his skull and the soft words of his father, trying to comfort his dying wife, followed right after them. It was too much to cope with and Peter just sat there, in a deep state of shock, and felt like the world was falling apart around him.

"Peter, you okay, kid?" Wade asked, hesitant to interrupt the moment of silence. When Peter didn't respond, the merc gently eased the teen's chin so that their eyes met. "Baby Boy, you still with me?"

Peter had completely zoned out, but as Wade moved his head, he somehow made it back into reality. Blinking a couple of times, he slowly came to realize that he was sitting in front of his laptop, facing Wade who had apparently talked to him. He was still so deeply shocked though that he couldn't react to anything. He only blinked a few more times, unable to grasp what he had just learned from the audio file, and stared at Wade blankly.

Heart clenching, Wade leaned over and pressed a heavy kiss to Peter's brow. For the first time in his life, he was completely at a loss as to what to say. Instead, he wiped away Peter's tears and allowed the heavy mantle of his embrace to say everything that words couldn't.

Very slowly the blockade in Peter's brain retreated and he returned to the real world surrounding him. He felt weak down to his bones, slumping against Wade, but strangely he suddenly was very calm. His parents were dead. They had been for almost 13 years. He couldn't change that anymore. Only the circumstances were different now, but he had already assumed that. It was just another strike on Norman Osborn's list.

Maybe it was just a survival trait of his psyche that let him see it that neutrally, but whatever it was, it helped. Peter closed his eyes and let Wade's warmth fill up his body with new strength. It was okay. He could deal with this. He would avenge his parents and kill Norman Osborn and everything would be fine.

"I'm good," he mumbled against Wade's body after a while. "You can let me go, I'm okay."

There was nothing on earth that could have convinced Wade that there was even a mote of veracity in that statement, but he honored Peter's request nonetheless. The merc reluctantly pulled his limbs back to settle limply in his lap. "You wanna break or something?" he tried again. As painfully aware as he was that this clusterfuck had to be dealt with sooner rather than later, it was difficult to watch Peter alternately break down, then go cold.

Peter smiled and shook his head.

"No, I'm good," he repeated. "We can go on."

He genuinely felt good, even though of course he wasn't. His entire system was just numbed and he didn't feel the pain anymore. He felt like he could take it all, deal with everything. The breakdown would come later, but for now his self-protection had kicked in and he somehow managed to not fall apart.

Wade eyed him sidelong. "Sure," he mumbled, palms itching for the reassuring weight of his katanas.

Peter only smiled wider and then turned around to face his laptop again. He was very confident right now. He had survived this audio file, he would survive the rest too. Norman Osborn and his horrible deeds wouldn't get him down.

He opened the next file, which was audio data as well. A random Oscorp scientist described their failed attempts to make Richard Parker's project work. But even with the files on the laptop, they didn't get it.

Peter only listened to a few seconds before he opened another file. It was almost the same all over. Many audio files and other documents only reported the errors Oscorp had encountered while doing their own research on the project. Somehow that made Peter smile.

He scrolled down to open one of the later files, hoping it would be something new. It was a photo of him, probably from his school or his passport or whatever else. Oscorp had probably used it as a reference for tracking him down. Peter closed it and opened the next file. It contained information about him, like which school he had attended, his height, his appearance, his birthday. Nothing interesting, really.

But then the next file hit Peter like an ice-cold fist right into his guts. His heart stopped beating and he froze in his chair, sucking in a loud breath. Eyes wide, he stared at the screen in total disbelief.

That was him. Again. But this time it was a newer picture. A picture from only a few days ago. He was currently climbing the high-rise he had thrown Wade off from. Oscorp had seen it. They had actually _found_ Peter!

His heart raced as he quickly opened the next file. This time it was a photo of Wade, climbing after him. Fuck. FUCK! Peter had to open his mouth because he was breathing so fast.

Wade quickly stood and crossed the room, disappearing through the doorway without a word.

Peter didn't even realize. He opened the next file, hands shaking violently. It was audio data of a man, probably calling someone.

"I've located the subject. He just climbed the Avalon Ft. Green apartment building at the intersection of Gold Street and Flatbush ave. I can't strike, though. He's being followed. I checked out the individual, his name is Deadpool. Mercenary, loosely tied to The Avengers, maybe SHIELD. I can't do this alone, I need back-up. Send back-up immediately to my location, heavily armed, helicopters and everything. I can't see what they're doing up there. I might lose them. Hurry. Send me some back-up here."

Peter closed the window and clicked on the next file, his head spinning. He was so dizzy that he listed to the right.

"I lost them." The same voice again. "They're gone. Deadpool fell off the building, I don't know what happened. I saw the subject climbing down, but he was too fast. He ran from the building, over the roofs. I couldn't follow him. But now we know he's still around. Do some research on Deadpool. Maybe if we find out more about him, we can find out more about the subject as well."

With grim resolve, Deadpool strode back into the room and slammed the laptop lid closed. His swords had resumed their position on his back and his body bristled with a near arsenal of weaponry and munitions. He dumped a duffel bag in Peter's lap and pulled his chair out and away from the desk. "Get your shit, we gotta' go," he declared, voice inflectionless. There was no question that the statement had been an order.

Peter didn't even think about protesting. He grabbed the bag and stood, but his knees gave away and he stumbled against the table. All of his confidence had left him again and he was panicking.

They had found him. They had _found him!_ How close had it been?! How close had it been for them to actually catch him?!

And they also knew about Wade! They knew of their connection! What if they were already on their way?!

For a moment Peter's vision turned black and he almost fell over.

But, Wade was there in an instant. The merc quickly grabbed both sides of Peter's face and leaned down until they were at eye-level. "Deep breath, kiddo. I told you I'd protect you and that's just what I'm gonna' do. Those fucktards have no idea what they're dealing with. There'll be plenty of time to flip your shit later, but right now I need you here with me. Okay?" he said evenly. The telltale trembling beneath his palms pulled at his heartstrings, but now wasn't the time for coddling. They needed to get out.

Peter nodded, even though he couldn't feel his own body anymore. Scenarios of what would have happened if Wade hadn't been there flashed up in his mind and stunned him. But there also was a tiny voice inside of him that screamed for him to get moving, so Oscorp wouldn't catch him right here and _now_ , and finally this voice got loud enough to drown out his panic and unlock his limbs.

"Okay," he whispered, grabbing the bag tighter. "Okay, alright. I'll be done in one minute. I don't have much."

Grunting, Wade released the teen's face in favor of pulling on his mask and gloves with perfunctory efficiency. In that moment, he looked every bit the ruthless mercenary that he was purported to be. While Peter busied himself with packing his meager belongings, Deadpool pulled out his phone to call in a favor.

Within one ring the line connected.

"Hey, Stark," he began, only to be cut off by a series of loud exclamations on the other line. "Listen. As weird as it sounds coming from me, Tony, I'm gonna need you to stop fucking around. I got a situation and could use a hand of the distinctly metallic, blast-happy ass-hat variety." He quickly scanned the hall and positioned himself in the doorframe, pulling out a remote activator for the anti-personnel mines he had installed in the elevators.

"Yeah. You remember that hot hunk of ass that I'm sweet on? Well, turns out that he's got some pretty bad fuckers tailing him. Like, too-legit-to-quit, black suit types. Do you think you can send over a Rofl-copter for a stat evac?" None of his precautionary measures had been tripped, but Peter's life wasn't worth risking because of Wade's carelessness with his own safety.

"Dude, of course I do. You personally built me the damn heli-pad on the roof. Yeah, I'll explain when we get there. Thanks. See you in a couple of minutes," he said appreciatively. Ending the call, Wade turned to Peter and gave him a reassuring smile beneath the mask. "Well, looks like we'll have you safely embraced in Captain America's double D bosom and eye-balls deep in the smell of freedom in no time, Petey-pie."

Peter didn't smile back. He had stuffed some of his clothing, the thumb drive and his camera into the bag. Nothing else was worth taking right now.

"I'm done," he announced flatly. He was almost dying from panic, but the fear was covered by a thin layer of self-control which let him function somehow. Wade was with him. Wade would take care of him. Nothing could happen to him as long as he had Wade.

Unfortunately, now wasn't the time for the hug that Wade so desperately wanted to give the teen.

"Alright, let's get movin'," Deadpool said as he un-holstered a pistol from his thigh and scanned the corridor once more. It wasn't likely that Oscorp had caught up quite yet. Still, he cleared each and every room before he motioned for Peter to follow at a safe distance. Once they made it to the master bedroom, he threw open the door to the balcony. Wind whipped around him in a small gale that petered out almost instantly as the pressure normalized.

"There's a helipad on the roof. Are you gonna go up the water-spout or do you want me to grapple us both up?" he asked as he eyed the black helicopter swiftly approaching from the south.

"I'll climb up myself," Peter determined and threw the bag over his shoulder. With his sticky fingertips it was no problem at all for him to climb up onto the roof. He was up there in no time.

Placing a grappling hook with a sharpshooter's accuracy, Wade soon followed. He reattached the spool-gun to his utility belt and stepped in front of Peter to break the heavy down-force of the approaching helicopter. "Our chariot awaits," he called back.

Well, that was hard not to notice. But Peter couldn't joke right now, so he only nodded.

The Stark Industries logo had never been a more welcome sight. "Alright, Petey," Wade roared over the whine of the rotor, "beauty before beef jerky." He motioned towards the open cabin where Tony Stark was gesticulating animatedly for them to board.

Peter didn't need to be told twice and went over to the helicopter quickly to climb inside. The wind of the rotors made his hair flow around wildly. He had to wipe it out of his face once he was inside to be able to see anything.

Under different circumstances, he would have gaped openly at the celebrity sitting across of him in a fancy, dark-grey pinstripe suit, sun-glasses on the bridge of his nose that were probably more expensive than one month of Peter's former rent. But right now Peter could not be impressed by the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist within closest reach. Everything just passed him in a weird, surreal blur and nothing really got to him or made any sense. He just did what Wade told him to do, his brain blank like a white piece of paper.

Wade leapt into the cabin and took a moment to situate himself on the seat amidst his sundry of weaponry. He ducked out of the shoulder strap of an honest to God RPG and set it on the floor at his feet so that he could scoot close to Peter and drape his arm across his shoulders protectively.

"Jesus, Tony, did you leave anything for the rest of the GQ models to wear?" he drawled, turning his attention towards the man in question.

"Well, no, of course not," the engineer replied while the door closed and the helicopter set in motion. "You said you had this really stunning companion with you, so I had to make sure I look dashing."

He slightly cocked his head to study Peter. "I guess that's him, then. … Is he legal? He looks like 16. Are you legal? If Wade kidnapped you, you can tell me now, I will make sure he keeps his gloved paws off your… innovative haircut."

Peter only nestled up closer against Wade, shaking his head. "I'm 18 and I'm fine," he muttered. He didn't want Wade to keep his paws off him. Wade was the only thing that prevented Peter from completely losing it right now.

"Alright, if you say so," Tony replied. Then he looked at Wade reproachfully. "Did you drug that kid? I thought he threw you off a building only like… yesterday. You know I can set Rhodey on you. He can actually sniff drugs. He's like this scary, mean sniffer dog that bites your leg when he doesn't like your after-shave. Though I bet this kid is too young to even grow a beard. Where did you meet him? Junior High?"

"Prom night actually. I was wearing this amazing lavender Chanel piece that really accentuated my ass and the rest is history. Petey just couldn't help but fall head over heels for my winning personality and quaint, girlish charm," Wade cheerily announced, inexplicably managing to convey batting his eyelashes despite the mask. He draped one muscular thigh across Peter's lap to further protect him from the wind bag that was Tony Stark.

"Isn't that right, Sweetums?" he asked with affected playfulness.

"Hmmmh," Peter hummed. He hadn't even listened to half the shit the two men were quipping about. And even if he had, he wouldn't have been able to come up with a witty response. His heart felt like a tiny bird right now that had fallen out of its nest, ducking in the grass now in hope no predator would find it. It pumped fear through his veins and that paralysed him. The last time he had been that afraid was right after he had run away, fearing Oscorp would lurk behind every corner, wherever he went. He had never forgotten how it felt, but feeling it again was worse than he remembered.

In a subtle attempt at reassurance, Wade ran his hand up and down Peter's arm. "Jesus, dude, you already broke him with all that suave charisma," Wade grumped sarcastically. Resting his head against Peter's, Wade turned to whisper. "Hey, it's okay, babe. Stark Tower is literally the safest place you can be. As much shit as he talks, Tony is harmless. And I'm not going anywhere. I've got you."

Peter felt a tear running down his cheek. It somehow hurt that Wade was so confident about this. It hurt because Peter knew Wade was trying and knew he really believed in this, but Peter himself couldn't share this certainty. Oscorp could find him anywhere and there was no way to keep him safe completely. Maybe there were spies at Stark Tower. Someone could somehow sneak into his room. Even if they would just attack and there would be an open fight, who said Oscorp didn't have any super weapon that could somehow knock out the Avengers. Everything was possible, at least in Peter's mind, and he cried because Wade wouldn't understand that and also because he knew that his fear hurt his lover because he couldn't help Peter out of it.

He heard Tony say something in a serious, soothing tone, but he didn't listen to it. He only sat there, frozen against Wade and stared at nothing right in front of his eyes.

Peter's tears were agony for the merc. This situation was so far out of Wade's control that the only thing he could do was hold on tightly to the mast and pray that his ship weathered the storm.

He removed his leg from Peter's lap and shifted on the bench so that his thigh instead sat wedged between the teen's lower back and the seat cushions behind him. The position allowed for him to pull Peter fully against his chest and into the nest of his muscular arms. Deadpool glanced at Stark in a silent plea for understanding.

"Don't worry, Baby Boy. At risk of sounding like a grade A creeper, I'm not letting you out of my sight even for a second. I can protect you better than anyone, kid. But even so, these fun-size Snickers dicks have resources that can make your continued safety a fuckin' fact," he murmured into Peter's unruly mop of hair.

Tony bit back any comment about the size of his dick and instead opened the door of the landed helicopter.

"He's right, kid," he assured. "Come on. We'll get you inside. I called everyone in, so you're gonna have six superhero babysitters right by your side, okay? And believe me, I've seen all of them when the coffee was empty, so I know how hardcore each of them can be. Also I have an army of self-fighting suits and Jarvis finds out immediately when something is off. You're safer here than Thor's hammer is to be picked up."

He hopped out of the chopper and waited in front of it for Wade and the bundle of angst in his arms.

Peter sniffled lowly and raised his head from Wade's chest, ready to get up and out. He didn't feel any calmer, even though both men tried their best. The fear was settled too deeply inside of his soul to make it go away that easily.

Wade disentangled himself and picked up his RPG-7 as an afterthought. He ducked out of the bay door and glanced back at where Peter was slowly coming to his feet. "Maybe we should hold off on the biannual Avenger's fan club meeting for right now," he directed towards Tony.

"It'll be fine," Tony assured. "Let's get him inside. He needs a blanket and a cup of hot chocolate. Come on."

He lead the way towards the private elevator that brought them directly into the penthouse living room and kitchen that served as the Avenger's common room.

Peter followed him, staying close in front of Wade to literally feel the merc's presence at his back.

Tension hung thickly enough between the motley group for even Wade to keep his silence. Taking note of Peter's stiff stride, the merc sidled up next to him and hooked his thumb in the belt loop of Peter's opposite hip.

As the door opened, Tony left the elevator first and strode over to the huge sofas surrounding the big glass table.

The other Avengers were sitting there already, looking over to the three men coming towards them. They all seemed to be pretty concerned.

"Folks, we have guests," Tony announced, clapping his hands once. "Thor, you make the best cocoa of us all, would you make one for the kid?" He turned around to Wade and Peter, gesturing over to the sofa where there was a free spot between Cap and Natasha. "Sit down. Steve, hand him the blanket. The blue one, that's the coziest. Also I know Clint sometimes sleeps under the red one completely naked. Clint, that's disgusting by the way."

"I do not," Barton muttered as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Stopping beside Wade, Tony placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Hey, can we talk in private for a second?"

Wade eyed the way Peter tensed up at the sizeable gathering. "If by 'talk in private' you mean let you walk Peter and I to my room, then kindly fuck off for just a wee bit, yeah, we can swing that," he stated in a tone that brokered no argument. Wade knew he was being ungracious, but he had more important things to attend to than Tony's ego.

He offhandedly waved at the gathered superheroes.

"'Sup, people. Good to see the band all in one place. Clint, love what you've done with the plumage. Steve, your pectorals are looking especially ravaging today. Rest easy, we'll be back in a bit to catch up and discuss Petey's hair-care secrets," he quipped, turning to throw an arm over both Peter's and Tony's shoulders. He then proceeded to pull them both close and steer them back towards the elevators.

Tony sighed silently, but let Wade drag him along.

"What are you doing?" he asked as soon as the doors of the elevator had closed. "You know as well as me that the Avengers can help. Shouldn't they get to know the person they're going to protect?"

"Maybe when the person they're going to protect isn't in a goddamn catatonic state," Wade retorted a bit more harshly than he had intended. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed. "Sorry, just a bit worked up right now."

"Yeah, no, I get you. I just- … Forget it." Tony did the sniff-thing with his nose and leaned against the wall until the elevator's doors opened once more. "What do you want to have?" he asked, making his way down the corridor. "Windows all over? Only a few? No windows at all? Two rooms? One room? Two rooms with a connecting door? I've got everything."

"No windows," Peter muttered. "No windows, I don't like windows. Just a big room, but no windows."

"No windows, got it," Tony nodded. "And all of my rooms are big, don't you worry. You'll get a nice one."

He led his guests to a room further down the hall and opened the door. "Jarvis will secure the door so it will only open if I or either one of you scans their finger print against this." He tapped a little screen beside the door. "So no one will be able to enter, unless you allow it." He gestured inside of the room, smiling at Peter. "Go on, take a look. It's all yours."

Peter eyed the scanner suspiciously. Then he reluctantly parted from Wade and slowly walked into the room, holding onto his bag tightly.

Tugging at the hem of his mask, Wade fidgeted in the doorway. "Thanks a lot," he directed towards Stark. "I mean it. I owe you like a solid twenty four hours of not making dick jokes at your expense, or something."

The merc glanced forlornly at where Peter was holding his bag like a life-line. So much had happened in the past few days. It would take him some time to process. "Hey, babe," Wade began quietly so as not to startle the teen from his thoughts. "Do you want me to leave you alone until you get situated?"

Peter shook his head, but didn't look over. He just stood in the middle of the room, looking around without really seeing much and waited for what would happen next. He wasn't really capable of acting on his own right now.

Tony frowned and leaned over to Wade once more.

"This kid is traumatized," he stated. "And believe me, I know what that's like. Don't let him get away with that distant behavior, okay? Get him out of there. Make him do something, something he likes. Something that calms him and that he knows and that makes him focus. He needs to recover. And by all means, Wade: Talk to us. Especially me. Who is this kid? What is going on here? Who are we up against? We will of course keep him safe, but it would be nice to know what we should prepare for, okay?"

Wade rolled his eyes. "No shit? Thanks for the assessment, Dr. Obvious. Can I pay my bill in sexual favors?" As soon as the churlish words fell from his lips he regretted them. The merc rubbed his face vigorously and seemed to deflate. "Jesus tap-dancing Christ, I'm sorry, Tony. You're right. I didn't mean to make light of…" he trailed off. "Alright, CliffsNotes version: scientist daddy attracted the wrong kind of attention, Peter's whole family is dead, he's got these pretty wicked spider super-powers and the big bad that did in his family is hot on his heels. You know anything about Oscorp?"

Tony frowned even heavier and nodded, looking over at Peter for a second.

"Yeah, I pretty much know about Oscorp," he grumbled. "Let me guess: Their cross-species genetics project? That was… about 10 years ago? Read some articles about that. Two scientists worked on that, I forgot the name of the second one. But one was Curt Connors. He's still around somewhere. Only has one arm, he wanted to regrow it with the results of their research. But then his friend left all of a sudden and took all of his research with him." He pursed his lips and seemed to think for a moment. "Spider-abilities, huh. Is Osborn after that? He's wicked. And sick. Like, literally sick. I can imagine he would love to get some self-healing powers from the project. What does he want Peter for? His blood? DNA? As far as I know, the project never worked. But apparently I was wrong there."

"I guess it's something like that. You'll have to ask Peter for the details when he's up to it. He remembers the movie script better than I do," Wade responded, shrugging. He realized that keeping Stark abreast of the situation was crucial for Peter's wellbeing, but part of him wanted nothing more than to brush the man off in favor of going to comfort Peter. "When you let me get it on with Jarvis at the barbecue I was able to get a hold of Peter's files from SHIELD and Oscorp. We were going through them today and there was surveillance footage of me and Peter from just a couple of days ago. Those fuckers finally caught up with him," he explained.

Tony clicked his tongue and nodded. "I see," he mumbled. "Okay, that's shit. But no worries, we're not gonna let Peter fall into their hands. He must have gone through a lot if he's so afraid of them. But he's safe here. All of us are on alert. We'll keep this room and the entire tower secured. No one will get to Peter, especially not Oscorp." He patted Wade's back and sighed lowly. "Now go to your puppy and cheer him up a little. He needs you."

"Don't let that adorable fuckin' hair fool you, Petey-pie skips the bark and goes straight to the bite. The kid's a lot tougher than you'd expect from lookin' at him," Wade warned, lips twitching up in a fond smile. He patted Tony's shoulder with one heavy hand in unspoken gratitude, then stepped into the room.

"He's gotta be if he's with you," Tony smiled and then turned to leave the two alone, closing the door behind him.

Wade made his way across the room in a series of long strides and laid his hands heavily on Peter's shoulders. "Hey," he greeted simply.

"Hey," Peter replied lowly. "Are we gonna stay here now? In this tower?"

Prying his mask off one-handed, the merc swept his other palm up to cup the side of Peter's jaw. "Only if that's okay with you," he stated, giving Peter the final option.

The teen shrugged helplessly, his lower lip trembling. "I don't know," he replied. "I don't know where I'm safe anymore."

Wade gently pried the duffle bag out of the teen's arms and pulled him into a tight, reassuring embrace. "Right here, Baby Boy. You're safe right here," he murmured. The weapons strapped across his body dug uncomfortably between them, but Wade couldn't be bothered to care.

"I thought so before I ran away," Peter told him with a broken voice. "But then they shot my parents and hunted me down. I thought so when I rented my flat. I was sure they would never find me. But you found it, so why shouldn't they have. Then I felt safe at your place. And now we ran away again. I don't think there is any safe place for me anywhere anymore."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, we didn't run away. This was just a strategic change of location," Wade replied. "And I meant that you're safe with me, kid." He hugged Peter all the more tightly. "As much as it pains me to say, I trust these guys. Sure, we could have stayed at my place, but why would I pass on the opportunity to get even more dangerous mother-fuckers like myself going to bat for you?"

Peter laughed lowly. Wade was hopelessly positive, no matter how tough the situation. They had left helter-skelter with hardly any time left to even pack a few things, as if Osborn himself had already waited in front of the door. How was Peter supposed to feel safe anywhere when the danger of Oscorp getting him was omnipresent?

"So what now?" he wanted to know. "Should I stay in this room for the rest of my life, guarded by six superheroes and a mercenary until I turn into dust?"

"Nah, just until your hunky mercenary bodyguard goes full Kevin Costner and tears that Osborn prick's head clean off and shoves it straight up his ass. I've never failed a mission that I wanted finished and I assure you, this twatwaffle ain't going to make a liar of me yet," Wade growled, squeezing perhaps a bit too tightly in his generalized rage. He realized what he had done and immediately forced himself to relax.

Peter only sighed. He was too drained and exhausted to argue or to even reply anything. He just felt horrible and at the moment nothing would change that for the better. So he just leaned against Wade heavily and didn't say anything.

Deadpool sighed. This wasn't going to be resolved immediately; he had to accept that. Instead of trying to convince Peter any further, Wade tilted Peter's chin up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "How about we hit the sack early? In the morning, if you want, I can start showing you how to trade some blows. With as freaky fast as you are I bet you could throw some mean fisticuffs," he coaxed. Perhaps the anxiety would peter out somewhat if Peter had a bit more confidence in himself as a force to be reckoned with.

"Yeah, why not," Peter mumbled. He was pretty sure that he wouldn't be able to sleep, but he also didn't know what else to do. Maybe it would at least calm Wade down a little if Peter would go to bed.

It was with great reluctance that Wade pulled away and began piling his armaments haphazardly on the floor. Pieces of his suit soon followed until he stood tall in nothing but Captain American boxers. He was too preoccupied with Peter's plight to pay any attention to his own insecurities.

Peter got rid of his shoes, socks and jeans. Then he stared at Wade's boxers for a moment before a smile made it onto his lips. This man was such a giant, dorky goofball. Affection filled Peter up and warmed his fearful heart.

"Has Captain America seen those?" he asked. "Has he signed them yet?"

"Aw, don't be jealous, Sweetums! I'll get Tony's R and D department onto making some Man-Spider underoos stat," Wade crooned as he stepped over to help draw Peter's shirt up over his head. "And Rogers would have a fucking coronary if he knew his purebred American face was gently caressing my junk." He swished his hips in order to better display the satin boxers and the contours of his flesh beneath.

"I would prefer Spider-Man," Peter mused as his shirt was tossed to the floor. "And my face was already covering your junk heavily and I know that it's the best thing that can happen to a face, actually."

Wade laughed abruptly, the sound rich and deep. "Damn, you're one hell of a smooth-talker, babe."

The merc fell back onto the plush mattress and stared up at the cold, metallic ceiling that was so dissimilar to his own penthouse. Everything here was modern and lifeless, with the exception of the young-man currently occupying both his space and his heart.

That exact same young-man now climbed onto the bed beside Wade and slumped down onto the covers. The little joking had calmed him somehow. He still felt horrible, but he wasn't in that state of deep shock anymore that had practically possessed his entire body only a few minutes ago. Wade was with him. He was okay as long as Wade was by his side.

"Will you wrap around me like a boa constrictor with limbs again?" he asked, shoving his legs beneath the blanket.

"For you, anything," Wade responded softly as he shifted into a more comfortable position and engulfed Peter with everything of himself.

Notes:

Also, we would just like to thank each and every one of you lovely individuals who have taken the time to read this fic and offer your support. Your kind words mean the world to us! We sincerely hope that you are enjoying our work thus far and will continue to do so as we progress along Wade and Peter's journey to find peace within both themselves and each other. 3

Chapter 13

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Be it from the rigors of the day prior, or the comfortable simplicity of having a warm body pressed against his own, Wade had a more restful sleep last night than he could recall in a very long time. He folded his pillow and shoved it beneath his shoulders stealthily so that he had a better angle from which to watch Peter's face, softened in sleep, as the teen continued to snore quietly against his chest. At some point during the night, Wade had wound up on his back with Peter wrapped around him like an octopus. It was the absolute cutest fucking thing. Slender limbs bracketed him in and tied him down to the bed more tightly than any leather hand-cuffs ever had. Even unconscious, Peter was strong as hell.

"I never imagined that someone as amazing as you could exist," he whispered softly. "Much less fall for a clusterfuck of a man like me." He tucked a stray strand of hair behind Peter's ear. Wade was well aware that Peter's affections were initially borne of fear and desperation, maybe even a burgeoning fondness. But in the quiet moment just before dawn, he was content to pretend that it was love.

And who knew, maybe it was.

The fact that Peter had been able to fall asleep next to Wade, despite the fear and agitation he had suffered yesterday, was perhaps more telling than anything. Peter was a mess when it came to love because he had forbidden himself to feel anything like that. But Wade constantly found new ways to creep inside of Peter's heart and to slowly fill it with affection, more and more, without Peter being able to stop it. It may have started with calculation and the need to feel secure, but the seed had grown roots that had already settled deeply inside Peter's heart. Who knew what fruit it would bear one day?

The peace of Peter's sleep was ended abruptly as the teen jerked up suddenly, eyes wildly scanning his surroundings. It took him a moment to remember where he was and what had happened. As his gaze met Wade's eyes, he stared at him for a few seconds before the tension left his body. At least for the most part.

"Hey…" he greeted the merc lowly. "Sorry, I just-... had a bad dream…"

Still in a haze of contended reverie, the merc simply hummed and sat up partially for a kiss, abdominals flexing beneath the kid's hand. "I'll chase it away," he murmured into Peter's lips.

"Mh," Peter grunted, closing his eyes. He didn't return the kiss, but he didn't back away either. He was still in that numb state that had kept him halfway sane, but it also prevented him from really feeling anything about the kiss right now.

Wade flopped back to the bed like a breaching whale and pulled Peter along with him. He chuckled and snuggled closer until his face was buried in Peter's hair. "Mmm, Petey-pie, Baby Boy, Sweetums, Shnookums, Kitten Pickles, Poopsy Doodles, Spidey-underoos," he listed off quickly, squirming even closer with each pet name until their bodies were completely entangled once more.

Peter had to giggle. Somehow Wade always managed to cheer him up with his horrible sweetness, even in the darkest of times. Peter felt warmth revive his body and the fog of fright clearing away in his brain.

"Okay, it's gone," he smiled against Wade's chest.

"Mission accomplished. That'll be a hundred grand; how do you want to pay?" the merc teased as he rubbed their legs together beneath the sheets.

Peter giggled again and softly batted at Wade's arm.

"Can I pay in cuddles?" he asked, placing the arm he had used to hit the merc around Wade's side.

"Oh my God, yes," Wade responded with perhaps a bit too much raw honesty in his voice.

The teen smiled and pressed against Wade firmly, hiding his face against him. He took a deep breath to fill his lungs with Wade's by now familiar scent and reveled in the feeling of reassurance that it provided. Somehow Wade would manage to make it all okay. Somehow everything would turn out to be fine.

"Hey," Peter muttered, letting his fingers ghost over Wade's back. "Thank you for being here with me. I don't know what I would have done without you."

"You don't have to thank me for that, kid. At this point you'd have to use a crowbar to pry me away," Deadpool stated affectionately. He shifted so that Peter's head rested on his bicep instead and met his eyes. "And we should totally have a spiffy training montage with 'Eye of the Tiger' and everything. Seriously, I bet you could royally kick my ass if we hone that eight-legged fury."

Peter smiled and traced Wade's lower lip with his fingertip.

"You think so? You had years and years of training. I'm just fast and strong, but I have no fighting technique whatsoever."

The merc kissed his finger. "I had years and years of normal-person training. You've got, like, Norse gods and Russian spies and shit. Seriously though, it would be worth a shot," he explained, flicking his tongue against Peter's still hovering fingertip.

Peter shuddered softly from the wet touch against his sensitive digit and nodded. "Yeah, it certainly wouldn't do any damage. I would like to give it a try."

Humming in agreement, Wade relaxed into the warmth of Peter's body. The seasons could change and he would still be content just to lay like this and watch the world turn. "We should get right on that," he muttered, actions at odds with his words.

"Yeah, totally," Peter agreed, sounding just as convincing. He was still a bit sleepy and he enjoyed the warmth and coziness of the bed and Wade's body. He closed his eyes again, lazily caressing Wade's back with his fingers. He had almost dozed off as suddenly a voice interrupted their intimate togetherness.

"Good morning, Mr. Wilson. I regret to interrupt, but it was requested that you and your guest perhaps, and I quote, 'stop sawing their morning wood and get up here already,'" Jarvis stated dryly.

Frowning, Wade pulled the sheets up over their heads. "There's no 'Mr. Wilson' here and these are not the droids you're looking for," he growled petulantly.

"I am afraid the force only works on the weak-minded, Mr. Pimp Daddy Master a da Flow, sir," Jarvis replied. "And Mr. Stark programmed me to be Jedi-resistant."

"Can you believe this guy?" Wade asked incredulously, shaking his head at Peter. To Jarvis, he called out "Tell Stark that we're deforesting the fuckin' rain forest in here!"

Peter chuckled and softly smacked Wade's butt. "Stop that," he scolded fondly. "You said I should train with them, so we can just as well go up there now. We can cuddle again when we're done. After we've had a long, hot shower of course to wash off the sweat."

Wade sighed dramatically. "You see what you did? I thought we were bros, Jarv! And here you are letting Tony steal away my cuddle-beau with his roguish charms and fancy computerized sky demon!" he continued to whine.

"My sincerest apologies for your loss, sir," Jarvis retorted. "I will inform Mr. Stark that you will be on your way shortly." Groaning, Wade tried to blindly fling a pillow at the ceiling, but it fell short of its target and arced back down to smack him in the face instead.

Peter laughed and freed himself of Wade's arms to sit up. "Come on, stop whining. You don't want me to starve, do you? We could both use some breakfast."

"Fine. Though, that heathen probably has Steve making crepes or some other weird shit," Wade continued petulantly. Despite his affected pout, he was filled with joy that Peter had finally seemed to calm down after yesterday's events.

"You can always make some pancakes and show them how it's done," Peter suggested as he swung his legs out of the bed to get up. "I bet Tony Stark has some of your pancake mix here if he's producing it and all."

Wade watched Peter get out of bed, appreciating each and every curve with a low whistle. "Sorry, what were you saying? I couldn't hear you over the sound of this amazing ass," he teased as he leapt out of the bed and delivered a firm slap to the teen's buttocks.

"Oi!" Peter jumped a little and spun around. With a playful growl, he leapt at Wade and wrapped his arms and legs around him, clinging to his back like a monkey. "I said," he whispered into Wade's ear, "that you better watch your hands once I've been trained by the Avengers, because then I will seriously kick your ass."

"Unf. All aboard the Deadpool express, next stop, Bonerville," Wade retorted as he ran his hands along the toned thighs wrapped around his waist. He kept going until he had two handfuls of precocious Spider-man ass. "If you're going to dominate me like that though, babe, I gotta' warn you, I can make a mean power bottom."

Peter chuckled darkly and bit Wade's earlobe. "Oh, baby," he purred. "I _invented_ the term 'power bottom'. And besides…" He leaned in even closer so that his lips brushed against Wade's ear while speaking. "... who says I'm not a very mean power top as well?"

"You know what, fuck breakfast," Wade pronounced, dropping to his knees and falling into quadruped with Peter still on his back. "Take me now!"

The teen laughed and slid off Wade's back. "Uh, uh, uh, you haven't deserved that yet," he declined and got back on his feet. "The schedule is breakfast, training, dinner, fucking your brains out, shower, sleep. No extras in between."

Peter was already feeling worlds better than yesterday, but he wasn't able yet to devote himself to sexual pleasures again. He really wanted to train now, because it felt like he was doing something productive to help himself. Maybe after that he was ready to let himself go again.

"Go on without me. I'm just going to stay here and stew in the miasma of my own blue balls," Wade teased. Despite his words to the contrary, he shot to his feet and pressed a gentle kiss to Peter's temple as he retrieved his discarded suit. Having left the penthouse too quickly to gather clothing, he would have to ask Tony to commandeer something wearable from his personal cadre of GQ models or something.

Peter smiled, amused, and then looked around for his bag. When he had found it, he walked over to open it and get some fresh clothes to put on. Once dressed, he went for the door, looking over his shoulder to see if Wade was ready too.

The merc was just cinching the neck clasp on his mask as Peter glanced back at him. He settled his katanas between his shoulder blades and strode to meet the teen in the doorway. "Ready?" he asked softly.

Again, Peter smiled and nodded. "With you, always," he replied. He searched for Wade's hand and grabbed it before he set in motion towards the elevator, making sure his lover was following him.

As soon as the elevator doors slid shut, Wade pulled his mask up to his nose, heedless of the cameras, and kissed Peter deeply. He took advantage of the kid's surprise and memorized every contour of his mouth before pulling back breathlessly and replacing his mask. The kiss had only lasted a few seconds, but the merc prayed that he was able to convey every ounce of love and adoration that he had for both Peter and his strength of character.

Peter stared at Wade for a moment, but then he smiled. "Good morning to you too," he said lowly and softly squeezed Wade's hand.

The merc returned the pressure with a fond smile. When the elevator doors opened once more it was to the sight of Thor smashing a plate on the ground and bellowing "another!" at a very put-out looking Captain America.

"Thundergoddamnit, Thor," Tony groaned and threw his arms in the air. "I _told_ you not to do that! You are only doing that to make me mad before I can finish my calming cup of coffee! … My _second_ calming cup of coffee! Honestly, it's no wonder Loki strives to destroy everything with an older brother like that!"

Thor choked at the affront as he attempted to offer a counter-argument while simultaneously draining his glass of orange juice.

"Jeeze, Tony, quit it," Natasha rolled her eyes. "I thought you were a genius. Just give Thor a plastic plate."

"I don't own plastic plates," Tony grumbled into his mug.

"I've seen some nice Iron Man ones in the toy store," the woman told him. "I will get you some for christmas."

"Yes, please," Iron Man cheered. "Last year Steve gave me, quite possibly the worst not-so-secret Santa gift ever."

"I don't know what you mean," Steve claimed with a subtle smirk.

Tony glared. "You know what you did."

Wade leaned in close to Peter. "On second thought, maybe we should have called the Fantastic Four instead," he said in a stage whisper.

"Huh. You think?" Peter muttered back, watching the grown men in front of him who were supposed to be the greatest superheros on earth banter like kindergarteners.

"Sir," Jarvis finally interrupted the argument. "If I may report that Mr. Wilson and his companion have arrived."

"Yeah, please," Tony grunted and turned towards the elevator. "Come over, before Thor eats all the good stuff. I swear, this man is like quicksand when it comes to food."

"Sure, thanks. But I'm gonna have to give Jarvis a talking to first. I mean seriously, how many times do we have to work on this? You better try that introduction again, bucko!" Wade yelled once more at the ceiling. While he was well aware that the AI was essentially inundating the tower, it still felt natural to look up.

"Sir, if I may report that Mr. Flow and his companion have arrived," Jarvis droned without a hint of sarcasm in his artificial voice.

Wade huffed in annoyance and started off across the room, mumbling expletives under his breath.

No one had any idea what was going on, but everyone knew Wade and so no one asked.

There were two free chairs between Thor and Clint. Peter hesitated in front of them, not sure which one to take. Suddenly he was far less enthusiastic about all this than he had been downstairs in their room. These were the _Avengers!_ He couldn't just casually sit and eat with the _AVENGERS!_

Before panic could set in, Wade made the choice for him. "Alright, I get the blonde bombshell and you get dad-bod over there," the merc stated cheerily, pointing at Clint.

Barton set his fork down and returned his wide smile with a deadpan stare. "Really, Wade?" Sighing, he rubbed his hands on his jeans and turned to offer a hand to Peter. "Hey, name's, Clint," he said amicably.

"Uh, hi… I'm Peter," the teen mumbled and hesitantly took Clint's hand to give it a nervous, hard squeeze. Right at this moment he realized once again that he was socially awkward as hell. Sure, he had manners, Aunt May had made sure of that. But he had never ever made friends with anyone or even just met anyone, except for his clients and that had been business. He had absolutely no idea how smalltalk or becoming friends with someone worked, what he was supposed to say or do or what people expected from him. How was he supposed to survive _six_ new people at once?

He helplessly stared at the table as he climbed into his chair, rubbing his palms together under the tabletop. This had been a terrible idea. He should have asked Wade to get them something to eat for a private breakfast in their room.

Wade sat down with a flourish and made grabby hands towards Steve, who was currently ladling out another plateful of eggs. However, before he could say anything, the God of Thunder threw his arm across Wade's shoulders and leaned in front of him.

"It is good that we have come together to break our fast on such an auspicious day as this! Well met Peter, betrothed of the Clan of Wil, I am Thor, son of Odin and Prince of Asgard," he boomed in greeting.

Peter stared at the huge hand in front of him with a bewildered look on his face. "I, uh…" he stammered, automatically reaching out to give Thor a handshake. "It is nice meeting you too, your uh… highness…"

Wade raised a non-existent eyebrow at the fact that Peter had let the 'betrothed' comment slip by without so much as a clever retort. This was too much, too quickly. He shoved at the tree trunk masquerading as an arm stretching across him.

"Hold your horses there hot stuff. As awesome as all of this raging masculinity in my personal space is, I'm taken. Sorry," he simpered as Thor regained his seat. The thunder god smiled slyly and addressed Peter once more. "If you have any troubles with this one, do not hesitate to call upon me. I find that a night of quiet contemplation beneath the weight of Mjolnir oft settles Brother Wade's lively temperament."

The merc rolled his eyes and scooted his chair close enough to wrap his arm around Peter's waist. "'Lively temperament,' my ass. Tony, control your guests," he drawled without any true vitriol.

"You're right," Tony nodded. "I should control my guests. Deadpool: Off! Be good! Naughty merc!"

Natasha groaned and leaned her forehead against her fingertips with closed eyes. Bruce followed her example, but taking a deep breath and rubbing his temples.

"Hi, I'm Tony," the engineer went on without paying attention to his fellow Avengers. "We already met yesterday, but uh… you were kinda busy then, I guess. It's nice to see you're okay." He smiled and got up to reach over the table and firmly shake Peter's hand.

"Yeah, uh, thank you…" Peter mumbled. He was highly uncomfortable with the fact that Tony Stark had seen him in his catatonic state.

"And this is Steve," Tony announced, gesturing over to the blond man in a far too tight, white shirt, who continued to smile in amusement. "He gives terrible gifts, so pray that he won't draw your name for Secret Santa."

"I only like to mess with Tony," Steve winked at Peter and offered the kid his hand. "We all do. His reactions are just priceless. Steve Rogers. It's good to have you here, Peter."

"Thanks…" Peter shook the man's hand. He felt like his face was burning by now. Captain America was shaking his hand! He was _talking_ to him! This was so unreal.

Wade grinned knowingly.

"Guess it's my turn then," Bruce said with a smile towards Peter. He got up as well and shook Peter's hand. His grip was softer than those of his companions. Somehow Peter felt a lot better and less awkward towards the scientist. "Bruce Banner. You might not recognize me, I'm usually green when cameras are around."

What Peter _did_ recognize right away was the sound of a false joke about something that in reality hurt the person very much. Like when Wade made jokes about his looks. Bruce suffered from being the Hulk and the public only seeing him as the 'monster'. Peter felt even more connected to him by that.

"No, no, I know you," he assured. "I've read some of your essays. They are really interesting. I'm a big fan of you, actually. You're a gifted scientist."

The little smile that crossed Bruce's face was so warm and genuine that it made Peter smile a little in return. He liked Bruce. Seeing him between all the other strong, self-confident, extroverted people sitting at the table was taking the edge off of the situation for Peter.

"I'm Natasha," the redhaired woman now introduced herself. She smiled as well as she shook Peter's hand. "I'm sorry for my colleagues. Most of the time them being together is just a competition in testosterone. Don't let them impress you. They can be very nice, if you force them."

"Aw, thanks for letting us play, Nat," Tony cooed. "We appreciate your acceptance of our pubertal posturing and manly bickering."

"Don't try your luck, Tony," Natasha replied without even looking at him. "Or I'll send you in timeout before you can finish your second cup of coffee."

"You're cruel. She's cruel," Tony warned with a look over at Peter and protectively grabbed his mug. "Don't get on her bad side, you'll only regret it."

"Oh, no worries," Natasha smirked. "There's no room on my bad side anymore with you and your enormous ego there already."

"Yeah, you're a real teddy bear, Nat." Clint rolled his eyes and shoveled another forkful of eggs into his mouth.

Wade chuckled and leaned in close enough to Peter's ear to not be overheard. "They're a real good bunch. You'll do fine here, Baby Boy," he whispered, making a kissing sound at the end of his sentence.

Peter smiled softly and nodded, pulling his shoulder up a little because of the kissing sounds so close to his ear. Steve by now had filled a plate with food and shoved it over to Peter, assuming the teen would maybe be too shy to ask the Avengers to hand him something over.

"You drink juice, tee, coffee, milk or cocoa for breakfast?" Tony asked.

"Uh, juice," Peter answered.

"That's the spirit." Tony tossed him the juice bottle that Peter caught easily. He felt like a baby chick at the table and that was pretty awkward, but he tried to relax and just behave normally.

"So, Peter," Clint began conversationally, "what kind of bet did you lose to get stuck with this bozo?"

Without so much as a pause, Wade smacked the back of Barton's elbow and resettled his hand on Peter's back. Eggs went flying and hit the table with a wet splatter. Taking a deep breath, Clint calmly set his fork down, pointed two fingers at his eyes, then one at Wade. He let the implication of 'I'm watching you' hang between them. In return, Deadpool smiled beatifically and held up his middle finger in the universal sign of friendship.

"Ah, it was actually really stupid," Peter answered. He studied the selection Steve had collected on his plate and then just grabbed a slice of toast. "We were having an argument about how many Avengers there are. I said 5 and Wade assured me that there were 6. So we made a bet and then checked it. Of course Wade was right. I had forgotten about this guy with the bow. What was his name? Something bird-like… Pigeon-Man or something?"

Wade howled in laughter at Barton's expression of resigned affront and all but collapsed against Peter's side.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. You two were made for each other," Clint grumbled, reaching over to flick Deadpool on the mask where his ear should be. For Wade, the Avengers' warm acceptance of Peter as both a person and his companion was more than he could ever have thought possible. He rolled his tongue and idly toyed with the possible concept of 'family.'

That the other Avengers laughed as well made Peter smile. Now he felt far better. They hadn't only taken Peter in to do Wade a favor, but had accepted Peter's own personality. That made him a lot more comfortable.

He began to eat his breakfast, growing more relaxed and confident by the second. He now was positive that the Avengers would be good trainers for him and would take good care of him, too. A weight had been lifted from his shoulders and he immediately felt a lot easier and somehow more alive.

The ceaseless chatter droned on around them, complimented by the clink and scrape of silverware. To be honest, the food smelled great. Sitting up, Wade pulled his mask up to the bridge of his nose without hesitation and graciously accepted a plate of his own from Steve.

"You hangin' in there, Spider-babe?" he asked quietly, using the opportunity to steal a slice of toast from Peter's plate.

Peter nodded with a smile. "I'm fine," he assured. "Thank you for that."

The remainder of the meal was relatively uneventful with the exception of a covert slap fight taking place behind Peter's chair.

"So," Tony finally said as they all were done eating. "I know it's rude to ask people about their superpowers, but I've been on tenterhooks ever since I heard about yours. Do you mind? For science?"

"Uh, yeah, about that," Peter replied, nervously rubbing his arm. It was one thing to just sit here and eat with the Avengers, but now that he had to actually ask a favor of them, he became twitchy again. "I wanted to ask if you could, uh… train me, maybe. I have my powers, but I don't really know how to use them and I-"

"Sold," Tony interrupted, slapping his hand on the tabletop. "Of course we will, kid. I actually would have been offended if you didn't ask."

"You're always offended if people don't praise you enough, Tony," Nat commented into her mug. Tony shot her a glare.

"No, really, it's a go," he continued. "We'll meet in the training room in… let's say 30 minutes. We'll make a badass fighter out of you, believe me."

"Yeah, okay, uh… thanks. There's no need for everyone to show up, I just-"

"No worries, we got this, kiddo," Tony interrupted once more and got up. "30 minutes! That's for everyone! You're dismissed! Go brush your teeth, shoo shoo!"

Wade raised his voice to be heard above the din. "Hey, Tony, come here lil mama and lemme whisper in your ear," he called out, crooking a finger at Stark.

"Wait, what, I'm the mama?" Tony asked as he came over. "I always thought Steve was the more feminine one." He sat down on the now free chair beside Wade and leaned over. "What's up?"

"First off, you are totally the mom. It's canon. Second, maybe we should limit the number of girl scouts allowed on this bracelet-making fun-time adventure, hmm?" Deadpool stated, canting his head comically as he hummed.

"I want to see the kid's powers first," Tony explained. "So we can then decide all together how to train him best. We all have different powers and skills. I don't intend to train him with all six of us at the same time, no worries."

"Yeah, but you see, I am worried. I don't want a repeat of yesterday from having too many Avenger-cooks in the Peter-kitchen, kapish? Your Nancy Drew mystery novel can fuckin' wait; so why don't you ask Peter what _he_ wants," Wade growled the final words, more heavy-handed suggestion than question. As much as he appreciated Tony's generosity, this was about protecting Peter, be it from evil corporations or sensory overload from over-enthusiastic engineers.

Tony raised his brows before he furrowed them together. "Hey, you asked _me_ for help, not the other way round, okay? I'm doing what I think is best for the kid. Peter asked if he could train with us, so I was pretty sure that I actually did what he wanted to. But if you know better, please, go ahead and play the boss yourself. I'm just trying my best here and God knows I owe you nothing. Maybe if you would just cooperate with me more and actually tell me what the shit you expect, I wouldn't have to listen to you bitching at me so often while I try to keep your boyfriend safe."

Wade rubbed his face and groaned. This was not going well. Grinding his teeth, he tore off his mask completely so that Tony could read the meaning in his expression if not his words. "You're right, you don't owe me shit. But this isn't about me and it sure as hell ain't about my fuckin' pride," he hissed, thankful that Peter was still being occupied by Clint's riveting tales of heroism.

"This is about an eighteen year old kid who's had every single one of his family members assassinated and just found out less than a day ago that the monster under the bed was already goddamn spooning him. Don't let that lopsided smile fool you, Peter is one hairsbreadth away from losing it. I'm just asking that you give him the courtesy of a tiny bit of control in his life," Wade finished, letting his tears of frustration fall unimpeded. "You have no fucking clue how grateful I am for everything you're doing and I would cut out my own shit-swilling heart and give it to you if you asked me to. But right now, Tony, I'm gonna impose on that hospitality even more and ask that you try not to steamroll him with everything and everyone all at once. Explain your thoughts, and wait for his goddamn go ahead. And for the love of tacos, stop talking over him. I'm not above begging if I have to, Tony."

Finally, he closed his eyes and wiped his face, pulling the mask back on fully and cinching it tight enough to make himself choke. That had been the first time he had revealed himself so fully in front of Stark and it was sure as shit going to be the last.

The billionaire studied Wade for a while before he sighed and patted his back. "You're right," he admitted, hand still on Wade's body. "I'm sorry. I really am. I know what it's like to lose your parents and I know what it's like to be haunted. I still can't get near a filled bathtub without flinching away and I still have nightmares about black holes and aliens. I just assume that people are like me all the time, and I cope with things best if I do stuff. I wish someone had been there for me when I felt horrible and offered me their help, because I suck at dealing with shit myself. So maybe I'm just over-enthusiastic in offering things because I feel like it would have helped me. You know Peter better than I do. If you say he needs more control, we'll give him more control. I'll cancel the meeting and we'll go alone, okay? Then we'll test the kid's abilities and see who would be the best coach for him. Is that alright? Does that sound good?"

"Peter knows himself better than either of us. Ask him," Wade responded, clearing his throat in an attempt to regain his composure. "And thanks," he added.

"Sure thing, pal," Tony replied and patted Wade's back once more. Then he got up and simply leaned in between Clint and Peter. "So, hey. I know I said 30 minutes for everyone, but I forgot to ask if that's even okay with you. I mean, I understand if that's too many people at once. If you want to, you can pick someone who has a look at your abilities and then tells you who would probably be your best trainer. Or you just do some stuff on your own and Jarvis will analyse your powers. Whatever you want, kid. Just tell me what you think is best."

"I, uh…" Peter stammered, fidgeting a little. "I don't know. I don't want to cause anyone of you any trouble. I mean, I'm sure you all have better things to do and -"

"Ah, no, not really, believe me. Bruce will work in the lab, I will probably do the same, and the other four will either have a Netflix marathon or beat each other's asses on the Wii. You're not bothering anyone, Spider-Boy, no worries."

Peter swallowed. Tony Stark basically putting all of the Avengers under Peter's orders put Peter into a spotlight that he was not comfortable with. Why on earth should he tell Iron Man or Captain America what to do? He was just some kid!

"You know better how to train someone," he mumbled. "I will just do whatever you say."

"Oh, hell, we have to work on your selfishness," Tony smiled with a wink. "Alright, lemme just suggest something, okay? How about you get ready and then meet me in the training room and I'll give you some basic tasks so that Jarvis and I can analyze your skills? Or if you want to I can ask Steve to do that instead of me; he's better in hand-to-hand-combat and all. Is that okay with you? I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"No, no, that's fine," Peter assured quickly. "That sounds fine. Just… just invite whoever you think is needed and I'll just… do whatever you think I should do."

Tony smiled again and nodded slightly. "Okay, kid, cool. Then just come to the training room whenever you're ready. Wade can show you the way. Or just ask Jarvis." He pushed himself off the table and gave Peter's back a soft pat, not knowing about the teen's issues with intimacy. Then he did the same with Clint, nonverbally apologising for interrupting their conversation, and went over to the elevator.

Barton spared Tony a speculative glance, then eyed Wade's back where he sat hunched in his chair, facing away. "You know what, we can finish the story another time. I'll catch ya later, Peter," he said with a wave and a transparent smile. He rose from his chair abruptly and stopped to squeeze Wade's shoulder before joining Natasha in the living room.

Bolstered by the subtle show of support, Wade stood as well and turned to offer Peter his hand. "Do you wanna take a breather? After all, it may take some time to recover from having your mind blown by miraculous tales of Barton's nesting habits," he teased, voice still thick from the tightness in his throat.

Peter had to chuckle due to the joke and nodded. "Yeah, a little break would be nice," he replied. "Maybe a bit more cuddling with you before I go for the training." Though that was meant for Wade, not for him. Peter hadn't missed the strange sound of the merc's voice.

Wade hooked his thumb in Peter's waistband. "Yeah, that sounds nice. Now you only owe me ninety-nine thousand, nine-hundred, and ninety-eight more," he stated with a blooming grin.

Peter laughed and softly hit Wade's chest. "You're expensive," he stated as he turned towards the elevator.

"These are top-notch, quality goods, Baby Boy," Wade retorted in mock offense while running his hands down the swell of his chest and abdominals.

"So are mine," Peter smirked. "And I know you're very keen on them. So stop advertising and come on downstairs."

Wade twirled into the elevator and leaned against the metal balustrade in a seductive sprawl. "Aww, is my Sugar-bear jealous? Afraid he might have some competition if the others see all…of… _this_ …" he said dramatically, punctuating the final words by tossing his head and pretending to tear open the front of his top.

This time Peter had to laugh loudly. "I actually am," he then joked, leaning against the balustrade across from Wade. "You haven't heard it, but Clint wouldn't stop talking about you. Aaaaaall the time. He could hardly contain himself."

Chuckling, Wade crossed his arms and leaned more comfortably against the elevator wall. "Oh, don't believe the shit he says. Except the complimentary stuff, you should one hundred percent believe that!" he pronounced. "But nah, Clint and I go way back. He's a good guy."

"They all seem to be good," Peter mused, looking down at the floor. "Hey, what did you say to Tony Stark? I mean, you asked him over and then he suddenly talked to me like that and you seemed to be agitated about something. Is everything alright?"

"Huh? Sure. Why wouldn't it be? We were just gossiping about the new Cosmo article and whether or not to use teeth during blowjobs. The answer is obviously 'no,' but Tony seems to be a bit of a masochist." Deadpool sighed and shook his head. "It's all fun and games until someone gets their dick bitten off," he stated tragically.

Peter raised his head and looked at Wade, expression unreadable.

"Wade," he finally said. "You are still doing it. You are still lying to me and you are still keeping things from me. Why? To protect me? Or to protect yourself? Or to protect yourself from me? Hm? When will you finally realize that I am not the only one of us who deserves support? I care about you, do you understand that? I don't ask this question for myself, I'm asking it for you. You cannot carry my baggage and not give me some of yours in return. That's not how it works, okay? Please. Please don't do this every time I'm trying to be there for you."

The merc was saved from answering immediately by the swish of the elevator doors opening on their floor. He brushed his hands over his head and let them rest at the back of his neck as he silently strode towards the guest room, Peter in tow. "Sorry kid. I'm just not used to having that," he said simply, addressing the empty hall in front of him. As they neared the door, Wade stepped out of the way to allow Peter access to the fingerprint scanner. "It wasn't anything serious, Tony and I just don't see eye to eye sometimes," he supplied.

"Okay. Good. That's all I wanted to know," Peter nodded. Then he eyed the scanner and grabbed his own hand with his other. "Hey, uh, could you…"

Wade glanced first at Peter, then the scanner. "Oh, shit," the merc sighed as he pulled his mask up and tore off one glove with his teeth. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking. Seems to be a theme," he mumbled around the material. He quickly assessed which finger had the least scarring at the present moment and pressed it down on the small glass window. Locking mechanisms within the wall clicked and the pocket door automatically swished open, accompanied by the quiet whine of servos.

"Thank you," Peter muttered. Before Wade could enter the room, Peter grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He stood on his toes and brought their lips together for a long, firm kiss.

"I care for you, Wade," he told him once more, still standing on his toes, supporting himself against Wade's chest. "Okay? I care about you. I feel safe with you and I want you to be able to feel safe with me, too. You can trust me. And you can trust that whatever is bothering you, I want to hear it so I can help you."

To have Peter so plainly state his affections felt like being hit by a freight train. Wade pulled Peter close and returned the kiss much more sedately.

"I kinda told Tony off for not giving you a say in the way all of this shit is gonna go down," he mumbled against the teen's lips. "I could tell you were overwhelmed; I was just tryin' to make sure that you weren't pressured into anything you didn't want to do. Stark is trustworthy, just a bit overzealous when it comes to figuring out how things tick. Even when those things are people that I care about more than fuckin' anything."

Wade slid his feet playfully beneath Peter's and shuffled them through the doorway.

Peter hummed and held onto Wade's shoulders. "Thank you," he mumbled back. "But I'm good. But it's nice to know you have my back, even against the Avengers."

The merc snorted disdainfully. "What, you think giant green rage monsters and almighty alien gods of inclement weather are enough to go toe to toe with me? Please," he jibed with a bark of laughter. Sobering quickly, he pressed a kiss to Peter's forehead. "I'll always have your back, Baby Boy."

"And I have yours," Peter whispered back.

Wade's answering smile nearly split his face in twain.

"Alright Casanova, go change into something you can move in. Maybe something that can't be grabbed easily if you've got it," he suggested.

Peter shook his head. "I only have normal shirts and jeans," he said. "I'll just go brush my teeth and then I'm good to go, I guess."

"I swear, Tony pretty much bought out Under Armour. I'm sure he'll get you some compression gear or something." Wade shrugged and reclined on the mattress while Peter went to ready himself. "You know, I bet you would look killer in spandex. Like, a leave-nothing-to-the-imagination catsuit," he pondered aloud, his voice unintelligible over the sound of running water.

Peter shrugged as he left the bathroom again. "I'll ask him. But now I'll first have to get to him." He came over to the bed and sat down on the edge, looking at the merc. "You'll come with me, right?" he asked.

"Of course! Not only am I a-freaking-mazing at mercing, I also double as a pretty sweet punching bag," Wade teased, patting Peter's leg reassuringly. "You ready?"

The teen smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I'm ready," he replied. "Let's go."

Notes:

At one point I will add "Sintero sucks" somewhere totally randomly because she always lets me do the last read-over without double-checking it before I post it~ :)

Chapter 14

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The training room was massive.

It wasn't just a room, it was an entire hall, full of Stark Industries' highest tech workout equipment, training fields of varying terrain, monitors, a sundry of weapons and a host of unidentifiable gadgets. A massive glass ceiling encompassed the entire room and highlighted the padded sparring arena with the soft glow of halogen lights from the floor above. Peter gaped at the entire scene for a while.

"Hey, kiddo," Tony greeted them from across the room, striding over to them, a Stark pad in his hand. "Good to see you. I didn't invite anyone else over, but just say a word and I'll ask for whoever you want to come down here."

"Thanks…" Peter replied. He felt pretty out of place in a high end training facility like this. "I, uh… I think I'm good for now…"

"Sure you are, you have me," Tony announced. "Alright, how about you just show me what you got in a little training fight? With Wade, maybe? I mean, you can also fight me or I can activate one of the dummies, but I don't want it to feel too real to you and I guess you trust Wade enough to not really attack you."

Peter glanced over at Wade, shrugging slightly. "Sure, if Wade is okay with that…"

Deadpool snorted and began to shrug off his sword sheaths. "It's no big. I should have realized that you would use any excuse to get your hands all over these luscious curves. I just thought that you would try to be a little more subtle about your infatuation," he drawled. His utility belt and thigh holsters were next to go.

Peter rolled his eyes with a sigh, but he was too nervous to say anything in return.

"Should I do anything special?" he asked of Tony instead, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"No, no, just defend and attack. Pretend I'm not even here. Oh, and please don't kill me while you're at it."

Peter nodded and took a deep breath. Then he turned towards Wade and looked at him with a mixture of expectancy and nervousness. He had never truly fought anyone and he had no idea what to do.

The mercenary stood with one hand on his hip and his other arm hanging loosely, the picture of unconcerned casualness. "Alright, Petey-pie, no reason to be nervous now. You can't hurt me and I won't hurt you, so just let loose," he stated with a reassuring smile. "How about I give you some mood music to really get into it."

He strode across the floor with light footfalls, every graceful curve of his body falling together in a seamless flow that just screamed 'predator.' That was, until he began to sing off-key.

"Oh, baby, baby, how was I supposed to know that something wasn't right here?"

Peter had to giggle and shook his head.

"Stop that," he ordered. "I can't fight you like this. Be serious about this, please. Don't go easy on me, I want to know what I can do."

"Fine," Wade said, shrugging nonchalantly, then abruptly dropped low and flashed out his leg in a sweeping arc to take out Peter's ankles. He dragged his heel to slow the maneuver, ready to stop on a dime if need be.

Peter's special sense kicked in immediately and made him jump in reflex. He had to think of the night in which he had entered Wade's room unannounced and Wade had attacked him, thinking he was an intruder. The merc had been much faster there, much more aggressive. Even if Peter would have wanted to, he wouldn't have been able to do much to escape him.

This situation was different. Wade didn't really want to attack him and Peter actually had a chance. It would be interesting for him to see how far Wade could go until Peter couldn't keep up anymore.

"You're thinking too hard," Wade stated, bemused, as he caught Peter's hips while the boy was in mid-jump and twirled them in place. It was obvious that Peter had never been in a real fight in his life.

"I tell you what, before we get into the fancy footwork, let's just start with the basics," he announced without a single trace of condescension in his tone. He set Peter down and took a large step back. "Alright, so pull a Britney and hit me, baby."

Deadpool squared his hips and stood tall to make as large and flat of a target as possible.

Peter exhaled and closed his eyes for a second. He nodded. Then he dashed forward and aimed for Wade's stomach with his fist.

Wade rocked back and smiled slyly. "Harder," he ordered. The kid had good form at least. No limp wristed bullshit like most beginners.

Peter grunted. "Wait a second," he asked.

He closed his eyes again and focused. He focused on the memories from yesterday, on the recording of the black box. On the fact that his parents had been shot by Oscorp so that Norman Osborn could get his father's research. That Aunt May and Uncle ben had been shot by Oscorp too to threaten Peter and force him to turn himself in, so they could torture him with experiments. That his entire life had been destroyed by one single, selfish, greedy monster that thought his own life mattered more than the ones of Peter's loved ones. He also thought of the story Wade had told him. How they had tortured him until he had become a mutate. How his own father had hit him. How Wade felt so horrible about himself because other people made fun of his looks. He thought of all this injustice in the world, of all the horrible things people did, especially Norman Osborn, and he channeled the anger and the desperate helplessness until it made him explode.

Faster than the human eye could catch, he darted forward once more and rammed his fist inside Wade's guts.

The merc flew back and rolled across the floor like a rag doll, finally coming to a skidding stop about thirty feet away. Blood poured into his mask from where he had bitten his tongue nearly in half and the agony in his stomach spoke of ruptured organs. However, his viscera knitted quickly enough and his deep laughter finally gained force as his lungs reinflated. He shifted his weight onto his shoulders and flipped onto his feet.

Tony's low whistle of appreciation at Peter's strength made Deadpool grin.

Sauntering back into his position, this time Wade widened his base of support and leaned his torso forward. "You're holding back. I said _harder_ ," he snarled.

Peter had been shocked from his own strength as he had seen Wade flying, but of course the merc was okay. As he challenged him like that, Peter shoved his concerns aside and let the anger flood his mind again.

Grimacing, he clenched his fists and dashed towards Wade. This time he jumped, using the force of the motion and rotated in mid-air to kick Wade hard in the upper back.

The floor came up to meet Wade's face with all the loving care of a steamroller. But even the agony of shattered bone and blunt force trauma couldn't counteract the sheer joy of seeing Peter finally let loose. Of course, Wade would have to wait to congratulate him until his jaw reformed.

Meanwhile, Peter didn't even think about that he just hurt his lover. Fury was consuming him like a raging fire and Peter couldn't contain it anymore. Without hesitating, he landed on his feet, used the momentum to push off the ground hard and fly towards the man he had kicked to the ground. He landed with his hands on Wade's back, grabbed the merc's suit and pushed himself off again, turning around in the air to land on his feet and throw Wade across the room with the drive he got from swinging his upper body back up. All this he did without thinking and just as he saw the flash of red flying through the air he realized that this was his doing.

Still literally blinded by his impact with the floor, the belly flop against the training room wall was entirely unexpected. Wade's ribs buckled with the force of the hit and pierced straight through his lungs and out of the sides of his chest and suit. If he had to describe himself in one word, it would have been 'soupy.'

He laid on the ground for a brief moment, then, like something out of a horror movie, he used momentum to swing his arm back into alignment and popped it into socket by shifting his body weight. It would take a couple of minutes for his ribs to figure out what the hell they were doing, but his face was in good enough working order to laugh uproariously. Even if it only came out as a series of rattling wheezes.

"Fuck," Peter gasped and ran towards the destroyed body on the ground. "Shit, Wade, I'm sorry!" he called out and fell to his knees beside the man. "I didn't mean to do that! I'm sorry! Oh my God, I'm _so_ freaking sorry!"

Peter's concern was too much. Wade curled in on himself from the force of his laughter. If his organs weren't actively tangoing around each other to regain their normal position, his stomach would have been aching with the force of his mirth. As it was, his shoulders shook and his deep guffaws gained only enough force to turn into wet gurgles.

"Damn," Tony commented from the other end of the room. "I'm glad you chose Wade as your sparring partner, not me. Also if _this_ is how you treat your _lover_ , I don't even want to know what you can do to your enemies. I think Natasha would be your perfect training partner."

He came over to the laughing mess of blood and the worried bundle of nerves beside him and tabbed something in his Stark pad.

"Relax, kid," he told Peter. "Wade is fine. He probably has a boner right now. Just give him a few minutes. Or a few more, in case he kills himself of laughter first."

The fragments of bone caught in Deadpool's suit tugged at the fabric, then entered him with a slurp. Once he had full lung capacity, he sat up stiffly and pulled his mask up just enough to let loose the gale of laughter that had been restrained while he healed. He tried to speak, but instead wound up expelling a string of gibberish where 'cock' was the only intelligible word. He collapsed in another fit of laughter and tried again once the expressive aphasia had resolved. "Oh my God, Tony is so right. Nothing but boner central right now. How strong are you? Holy shit, that was the hottest thing I've ever experienced," he wheezed from amidst the puddle of his own blood.

Peter stared at him in total disbelief.

"Oh my God, you're such a fucking weirdo!" he then exclaimed.

"Tell you what: Water is wet," Tony snorted from behind him. "Jarvis, tell the cleaning squad they'll have some serious work to do here. Also give me the results of your recording and analysis."

"As you wish, sir," Jarvis confirmed.

Peter got up with a grunt and wiped his bloody hands on his jeans. He felt the urge to kick Wade in the face, but then that sick pervert would probably come.

"Alright now, fap fodder," Wade addressed Peter, trying not to slip while getting to his feet. "Before your head gets too big, realize that people don't just stand still. That being said, you're strong as hell and if I weren't starring in my own personal snuff film right now I would be climbing you like a fucking tree."

Peter snorted. "Yeah, I know," he grumbled. "So what now? You want to move while I attack you? Or you wanna go jerk off first?"

"Eh, I'm digging the enthusiasm, but there should probably be a cleanup on aisle three before the second round," Deadpool stated, glancing down at the thick sheet of congealed blood inundating his suit.

He turned to Tony. "Do you think I could borrow some threads in the meantime?"

"Sure, take whatever you need," Tony replied, still absorbed in the data on his pad. "If you need clean clothes, you can borrow some. Oh, and feel free to cover the whole room in blood, we now need to clean it anyway."

"Oh, Tony, have I ever told you you're my hero? Get over here and give Daddypool a hug," the merc said, grinning maliciously with his arms outstretched.

"I always assumed that anyway," Tony stated and took a few steps back. "Also thanks, but no thanks. You know I love sharing, but please keep your guts to yourself."

"No, I really mean it man! You're everything, everything I wish I could be. Oh, and I, I could fly higher than an eagle," Wade continued as he strode forward with intent.

"Nah, nope, uh-uh. And please apologize formally to poor Miss Midler." Tony backed away further, still looking at his pad. Peter saved him by grabbing Wade's waist and yanking him back.

"Stop that," he ordered. "We're here to train. Go sew yourself together again or change or whatever. You promised to help me with this."

He sounded a bit harsh, but not necessarily because of Wade. He was still both shocked and amazed by his own powers and he was definitely afraid of the extent of his cruelty and violence in battle. Like Tony had said: If he was able to do _this_ to the only person in his life that meant something to him, what was he capable of doing to someone else?

Catching on to the severity of Peter's tone, Wade made a conscious effort to contain his joviality. "Uh, sure thing, Baby Boy," he responded simply. With a brief wave to Tony, he immediately trotted off towards the locker rooms to shower and change.

Peter looked after him and then sighed lowly.

"You okay, kiddo?" Tony wanted to know.

"Yeah, I guess," Peter mumbled. "I'm just-…"

"Afraid of what you can do?"

Peter hesitated, then nodded slightly. "Yeah, " he admitted.

"Believe me, all of us were in the beginning," Tony told him. He lowered his Stark pad to look at Peter. "We all have to get used to it and learn how to deal with it. That's completely normal. We need to learn how to contain it, how to control it. You know, the thing that matters is not what our powers are, but what we use them for. What we actually do with them. Steve could probably rip someone in half if he wanted to. Hell, I'm sure Thor can. I could use my genius to build a killer robot. Knowing me, I would probably build one unintentionally while trying to upgrade my toaster or something."

Peter gave a low, amused snort.

"We could do all those things," Tony went on. "But we don't, you know? We use our powers for good and we control them as best we can. That's what you came here for, right? To learn how to deal with your powers. So don't be afraid of what you learn here. Accept it. If you're afraid of yourself right now, that's good. It shows that you realize that you went overboard and that you need to control your power. And that's what we will be working on. Alright?"

Peter nodded again, exhaling audibly. "Yeah, alright," he murmured.

"Great. You're great, kid."

Peter gave a half-hearted smile and looked at the puddle of blood on the floor.

"So, spider-powers, huh," Tony tried to distract him. "That's awesome! I saw superhuman speed and strength, but Wade told me something about wall-climbing, too. Would you mind showing me? It's of course good for us to know what you're capable of to properly train you, but I won't even try to deny that I'm also just really curious to see it."

This time Peter had to smile a bit wider. Why was everyone always so excited about the wall-climbing?

"Sure," he agreed and crouched down to take off his shoes and socks. "But don't try this yourself. I know it looks cool, but only I can actually walk on the ceiling."

Barefooted, he made his way over to the high wall and stopped in front of it to glance up. Then he shook out his arms and began to climb. He crawled up the smooth surface like he was just crawling over the floor and when he reached the ceiling, he attached himself to it with his feet and hung from it head first like a bat.

Tony obviously was bowled over. "Okay, this is definitely the coolest superpower any of us has," he announced, coming over to stand closer to Peter. "How does this work? How do you do this?"

"I just have sticky fingertips and soles," Peter explained with a grin. "But I can control it. I can switch it on and off."

"Amazing," Tony mumbled to himself. "Can you do anything else? Do you poop out webs or something?"

Peter grimaced and shook his head. "Ew, no, of course not. I adapted a spider's power, speed, wall-crawling-abilities, healing factor and I have a special sense that warns me when something is about to happen. But that's all."

"That's all," Tony snorted. "Sure, as if you're not already blessed enough by this. Basically you're a walking fighting machine. Being warned of counterattacks by that spider-sense, being able to dodge everything or just heal from the blow, and you can hit so fast and hard no one sees it coming. With the right training, you can probably knock all of us out without breaking a sweat."

Peter twitched his lips, a bit overburdened with the praise. "You think so?" he asked lowly. He wasn't sure if he liked that news.

"Absolutely," Tony nodded. He sounded far more impressed and cheerful than Peter did. "Though I of course hope you would rather join us than fight us. Hey, have you ever thought of making some spider-weapons? I mean, your abilities are already more than enough to make all of us look like your secondhand background singers, but still. We all have something, you know? Hammers, shields, bows, blasters, widow bites. Just a suggestion, but it comes in handy."

"Actually," Peter said with new excitement in his voice and dropped from the ceiling, gracefully landing on his feet and standing up, "I had this idea of building little capsules that contain really strong thread that I can maybe use to, you know, web people."

Tony nodded again. "You mean like you throw them on people and then a web pops out of them?"

"No no, more like me being able to shoot webs from them," Peter corrected. "Refillable containers that shoot webs."

"Webshooters," Iron Man stated. "That sounds awesome, kid. We would just have to find a material that can be compressed enough to fit in small containers and is still efficient. And strong. Jarvis, write that down. Make that first priority. That's really cool, we need to have a look into that as soon as possible."

"It is all noted, sir," Jarvis announced.

Silhouetted by the glow of the locker room doorway, Wade pulled up the hood on his track suit and observed as Peter approached Tony. The eager glint in Stark's eyes was just as telling as the bounce in Peter's gait. To be fair, Wade had been boiling over with curiosity to see the kid's powers in use just as Tony was. And too, Peter was likely loving the fact that he had an adoring audience, loving the fact that he could finally explore his powers without the fear of being discovered. Smiling tenderly, Wade shoved his hands in his pockets, pulled his hood low, and silently approached them from behind.

"I would suggest, if that's alright with you, that I send Natasha down here and have a look at what I have in my lab for those webshooters," Tony kept on talking without noticing Wade. "Then while Nat and Wade train you, I can already prepare everything and then we can work on the shooters together later. I assume you're a smart kid, if you really read Bruce's essays in your spare time."

"I wouldn't call myself stupid," Peter shrugged. "I'm actually pretty good at science."

"I really like you," Tony smiled.

"Join the club. We have t-shirts," Wade whispered in his ear, grinning mischievously.

"Holy-!" Tony jumped and spun around. "How dare you! I'm over 40, I can get heart-attacks from shit like that!"

Waving off the theatrics, Deadpool planted his hands on his hips. "You know, first you would have to have a heart," he quipped.

"You mean that thing that pumps empathy and compassion through your veins?" Tony asked. "Nah. That's overrated. Good God, just imagine! I would suddenly become a superhero, let a bunch of other superheros live at my place, provide clean energy through my inventions and do a weird guy who keeps insulting me a big favor by letting him and his jailbait-lover come over, even though I have no idea what's even going on. Just _imagine!_ No, Wade. Hearts are absolutely out of the question for me."

"Easy there, Tin-man. It was just a joke," the merc responded loftily. He bumped shoulders with Tony in a familiar show of camaraderie as he stepped around the man.

"Yeah, I know," Tony mumbled to himself, hardly audible. "You're not the first one to joke about me being a terrible person." He sent a message to Nat, asking her to come down to the training room. She was fast and ruthless and a close combat fighter. And spider-themed. Perfect for Peter.

Wade crossed his arms and waited until Tony was through typing before hooking a finger over his Starkpad and lowering it. "Nah, and I'm also not the first one to make the joke specifically 'cause I know it ain't true," he pronounced.

The teen looked back and forth between the merc and the engineer and cleared his throat.

"So, uhm…" he began. "Are we still training or…?"

Deadpool sidled close and slid an arm around his waist. "Ouch, and here I was expecting just a little bit of hurt comfort after being turned into Deadpool jelly," Wade complained without any real heat behind his words. He pressed his lips against Peter's hair and breathed in deeply. "But yeah, let's keep going. If anything, I figure the brains of the operation over here probably wants to run some more diagnostics," he explained, pointing a thumb back at Tony. "Plus, he said that if I play nice he'll calculate the exact equation for the parabolic curvature of your ass."

Peter rolled his eyes. "And here you wonder why I don't comfort you," he grumbled.

"Actually I only wanna see you being turned into jelly once more," Tony commented from their side. "So yeah, please go on. If you don't mind, I'll have Jarvis record it so you can see for yourself what you might want to work on. It's always helpful to have footage to work with."

"Sure," Peter nodded slightly. He grabbed his own upper arm to squeeze it and calm himself down. Video surveillance. He knew he was safe here, but the thought of it made him uneasy nonetheless.

Deadpool tilted Peter's chin and met his eyes pointedly in silent question. The teen squirmed a little under Wade's far too knowing gaze.

"I'm good," he assured lowly. "I just… had some bad experiences with cameras and it's hard to shake that off…"

Grunting in place of an answer, Wade let his hands drop and began to jog backwards towards the training mats with perhaps a bit more interpretive dance than absolutely necessary. It was genuinely good to see Peter discovering the first inkling of his own independence in terms of protecting himself.

"Come on, Sweetcheeks," he called out. "Let's see what you can do with a moving target."

"Hit hard on it," Peter replied with a sigh. He crouched down to put his shoes back on and then followed Wade over to the mats. He didn't want to hurt his feet.

"So, what now?" he asked as soon as he was close to his training partner. "Do I attack you again and you dodge?"

"Oh sweet baby Jesus, I think we need to rewind and take another look at this 'hard on' business," Wade responded lecherously. His predatory grin combined with the atrocious early 90's track suit just screamed 'not allowed within five-hundred feet of school grounds."

Peter only snorted. "Well, earn it," he ordered.

Then he dashed forward, trying to kick Wade in the face with his shin.

The merc ducked beneath the blur of Peter's leg, spun into a crouch, and struck the back of the teen's knee lightly, but still with sufficient force to make it buckle beneath him. A few of the buttons on Wade's tear-away pants snapped open as his quads bunched. "Lesson one, aim to connect with your foot, not your whole damn leg," he drawled as he grabbed a hold of Peter's upper arm to steady him.

"And there are much more effective targets to go for rather than aiming for the head. Though, if you insist and your hippy footwear allows it, either point your toes and connect with the top of your foot, or flex your toes so that you hit with the ball of your foot and don't wind up breaking the damn thing."

"Okay…" Peter acknowledged, bringing himself in a standing position again. "I have no idea how any of this works, I just… hit…"

Wade snorted, amused. "That's some Sun Tzu level shit," he commented with a huff of laughter. He stood up and made a show of dusting Peter off, making sure to diligently include the seat of his pants.

"Don't worry, kid. We all start somewhere. And really, you've got some nice skills under your belt already; we just gotta work on refining them. Too, you gotta figure out what style works best for you and your abilities. But that will come with practice and experience," he explained. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, Wade raised his guard and softened his knees.

"Now then, we've already established that you're strong as fuck. So if you're trying to take out a non-super, there's no reason not to aim for center mass. You have a better probability of landing a hit and making it count in organ liquefying ways. And let me tell you from recent experience, they're not going to be getting back up if their liver is the consistency of applesauce. So, come at me again."

Peter nodded and took a deep breath. This time he tried to hit Wade in the gut with his fist. He made sure to keep both feet on the ground, so the merc couldn't make him lose his balance again.

Wade deflected the blow to the side with his forearm and, grabbing hold of Peter's wrist, stepped back with that same leg to use Peter's forward momentum against him and fling the teen face-first into the mat.

Peter grunted and rolled onto his back with a groan.

"Lesson two, you're fast as fuck. Don't come at me full force, head down, like a bull in a china shop. Use that speed to your advantage. Move, strike, and switch to your next target before your opponent has a chance to defend. Don't try to drive through them. Folks like me will gladly take that hit if it means taking away your advantage. Now, again," Wade demanded as he took up his stance once more. He fought to keep the smile from his face. Once he was comfortable in his own skin, Peter was going to be a force to be reckoned with.

"I'm beginning to hate you," Peter grumbled as he got back up to his feet. Or at least pretended to.

He was still squatting when he suddenly darted forward, supporting himself on his hands and swinging his body around horizontally to hit Wade's shanks with his own. He then used the momentum to jump to his right foot, swinging around again with his left leg up to aim for Wade's head with it in case the merc was still standing somehow.

Stars exploded behind Wade's eyes in a decidedly non-sexy way as his head snapped back and punched another hole in his coup-countercoup frequent rewards card. When the lights cleared, he was kneeling on the mat in front of an all too smug looking Peter.

"Like this?" he grinned. He was overly proud of having been able to outsmart Wade and actually land a hit against him. "Oh, I like you on your knees, babe."

"Why, does it feel like our first date?" Wade asked with a wicked grin. He wiped the thin trickle of blood from his nose with the cuff of his sleeve and glanced around the room covertly. Apparently Tony had stepped out at some point while they were sparring.

Peter laughed and offered Wade his hand. "A bit," he admitted. "Only that I laid _you_ this time, not the other way round."

"Yeah yeah, laugh it up, Bruce Lee," the merc retorted, reaching across his body to take Peter's hand. As soon as he had a firm grip, Wade rolled onto his back and wrenched Peter's arm hard enough that he fell with enough momentum to perform a horizontal pirouette and land gracelessly with his back on Wade's stomach. Deadpool kicked up with lightning fast reflexes and wound his legs tightly around Peter's waist while simultaneously pulling the kid against his chest in a headlock. "Mmm, I think I may have found another kink," he rasped.

"Fuck you!" Peter wheezed, trying to struggle himself out of the grab. "You're playing dirty! That was unfair! I wanted to help you, you mean asshole!"

"Lesson number three, don't give an inch and don't stop until your opponent is turned off like a fucking light switch," Wade growled in response and flexed his bicep to tighten the hold slightly. "Incidentally, there's a lovely nerve that starts way up on the thigh that you can use right now. It's too deep to casually get to, but you've got the strength to actually sever the femoral nerve and make it count. Aim for the hollow of the thigh just next to my junk and jam your elbow into it in order to break my closed guard, then muscle your way out of the headlock. Try it before you lose consciousness," he ordered casually.

Peter gasped, desperately trying to get enough air despite Wade's arm pressing against his throat. He had no idea where that fucking nerve was and he couldn't turn his head to even see where he was aiming, but he tried his luck and just rammed his elbow with all the force he could muster in the direction where he thought the nerve would be.

Peter's elbow came down with the surgical grace of a butter knife, but the force of the blow was sufficient to crush the femoral nerve and artery all in one go. Wade winced as his leg fell open of its own accord. Give him broken bones or internal bleeding anyday, but there was something about healing from axonal crush injuries that just plain sucked ass. Before the merc could catch his breath, Peter wrenched Wade's elbow back far enough to snap the tendons and rolled out of the hold.

"You know, most people just go get milkshakes or go to the movies or something on dates," Wade contemplated aloud from his sprawled position on the floor.

"Oh, I will shake your milk alright," Peter growled.

He turned onto his back, placed his palms on the ground above his head and pushed himself off, aiming to land on Wade's unprotected stomach with his feet, only to immediately jump off again. He landed on his hands and used the position to see what Wade was doing behind him on the ground.

Which wasn't a whole hell of a lot, considering that he still couldn't use his leg and was currently occupied with the thought of how refreshing a chocolate milkshake would be. Not that his reinflating stomach was overly interested in food at the moment.

Peter took full advantage of that by quickly dropping to his feet and reaching down to grab the ankle of Wade's uninjured leg - pretty sure he wouldn't use his other one for anything right now - and hauling the merc up to smash him back down onto his belly. As fast as he could, Peter crawled on top of him, using his shins to block Wade's thighs and his hands to hold down the merc's arms. He stayed like this, waiting if Wade would find a way out of this or whether Peter had passed this test.

The maneuver was met with an unexpected round of applause from the sidelines.

Playing up to the audience, Wade began humping the floor, lifting Peter slightly with each pistoning motion, and called out plaintively.

"Help! I'm being taken advantage of by this big, bad maaaaaaan," he whined, voice cracking with restrained laughter.

Peter groaned in annoyance and sat up. He turned to look at who had joined them, trying to hold Wade's ass down by simply sitting on it.

"Sorry, but it's really impossible to shut him up," he sighed.

Clint chuckled good-naturedly. "You're telling me? But hey, you know, you got some pretty sweet moves there, kid," he complimented, jutting his bottom lip out and nodding his head.

At that moment, Wade started to lift his hips clear off of the floor and slam them back down, groaning loudly. "It's so big," he moaned.

"Oh my _God!_ " Peter called and rolled off him. "You're such a freaking weirdo!"

He got up and went over to Clint. At least he would support him against Wade.

"Thanks," he said to the Avenger. "I'm still learning. You missed the part where I turned him into Jellypool by smashing him against the wall."

"I'm genuinely sorry I missed that," Clint grunted with a lopsided grin.

"It's not the first time!" Wade called out from the floor. He shook his leg a couple of times to get rid of the lingering paresthesia, then hopped up and strode over.

"Yeah, maybe you should start to wonder why I keep turning you into a burst-open mess," Peter suggested.

"I'm actually pretty honored with how hard you're trying to get inside of me. But I keep telling you, I'm just not that kind of girl," Wade teased, to which Barton merely rolled his eyes. "Really, Wade?"

"Oooh, okay," Peter shrugged. "So no power top for you tonight, then. Or ever. Pity. But if you don't want to…"

Wade stepped close and settled his hands on Peter's waist. "Now I didn't say that," he purred in a low register.

"You know what, screw this. Tony just sent me to tell you guys that you can grab some food in the kitchen and Peter can come to his lab after that," Clint muttered as he purposefully removed his hearing aids and trudged out of the gym, shaking his head as he went.

"Thank you!" Peter called after him nonetheless. Then he shoved Wade off of him and gave him a thorough look. "You okay?" he asked. "Did I hurt you much? I'm sorry if I did. But to be fair, you asked for it."

"Yeah, I did. And you gave a hundred and twenty percent. I'm proud of you, Baby Boy," Wade said, dropping the playful act. He eased back into Peter's personal space and carded through his hair with both hands. "You are really something special," he admitted.

Peter smiled while he squeezed his eyes shut to not get any hair in it. "You're just a great trainer," he complimented back. He didn't know why Black Widow hadn't shown up, but Stark had probably told her not to come down and leave Wade and Peter alone to train. And as much as he appreciated the Avenger's help, he was thankful for that. He trusted Wade with all he had and he felt comfortable enough around him to not freak out when the merc attacked him, so training with him was actually fun. Also he knew he couldn't hurt Wade, so he didn't have to hold back.

"Nah, I'm a shitty trainer. You just needed a chance to let loose on a good, solid punching bag. You'll figure out how to play to your strengths with practice. And the more people you spar, the more versatile those skills will get. This was just a test run," the merc stated affectionately. His heart throbbed in his chest, overjoyed at the spark of confidence that had settled in Peter's eyes just from this tiny victory.

Unable to take the distance any longer, he leaned down and pressed their lips together. The heat of Peter's mouth against his questing tongue felt like coming home. It was still a marvel to Wade that anyone would allow him the opportunity to act on his love and, unbelievably, to have those displays of affection returned.

Peter gave a low hum at the contact of their lips and leaned forward slightly to put more pressure into the kiss. Wade had helped him feel better again after the breakdown of yesterday and he was thankful beyond words for the effort the merc put into taking care of him.

"Hey," he whispered against Deadpool's lips, breaking the kiss. "I'm gonna pay you back with whatever you want tonight."

Wade could only close his eyes in an attempt to center himself for a brief moment. Finally, he engulfed Peter in his arms and took comfort in the feel of his body through the thin track suit.

"Whatever I want? In that case, I want to make you feel good," he stated, placing another tender kiss on Peter's lips. "I want to make you feel safe," he continued, kissing the tip of the teen's nose. "I want to make you feel cherished. However I can accomplish that, that's what I want to do," he finished, brushing his lips against Peter's sweat-slicked forehead and the wet curls of hair clinging there. He licked the salt from his lips and smiled down at the handsome young man whose name had been tattooed on his heart.

Peter's own heart received a warm sting at Wade's affectionate words.

"But I want to make _you_ feel good," he mumbled. "You've done so much for me already. You protect me and you take care of me and you give me everything that I need. While I just… cry and complain and push you into telling me things. I used you. I exploited your love to turn you into my personal bodyguard. I lived in your house and let you feed me and ordered you around like a watchdog. I was really mean and unfair to you and yet you still treat me like I'm the most amazing person on Earth. I want to make it up to you."

"But you _are_ the most amazing person on Earth. You stayed," Wade pronounced simply. Before Peter had a chance to respond, he twirled away with a flourish and came to an abrupt stop, clapping his hands together. "Anyhoo, do you want to shower before we head up to the super-powered circle jerk?"

Peter frowned. This topic wasn't through for him yet and he didn't like it that Wade tried to change the subject again before they could talk things out completely.

"Yeah," he replied flatly. "And have a bite, maybe."

"Ooo… kinky. Daddypool likes the enthusiasm," Wade drawled with an exaggerated wink.

"Not from you," Peter stated. "Biting you doesn't make me feel cherished."

The merc chuckled as they made their way to the elevator. "How about a hidden shrine in the closet that's devoted solely to the glory of your Spider-buns?"

"If that makes you happy, you will get that," Peter promised as he followed the merc. "Whatever you want. _You_ want, explicitly."

"Oh."

The elevator doors swished closed behind them. A mantle of quiet tension descended on the small elevator car and was awkward enough for the floor indicator lights to be endlessly fascinating for Wade, if his singular focus was anything to go by. Quite frankly, he just wasn't used to having someone care. As hard as he clawed and struggled to gain exactly that in his life, now that he apparently had it he had no idea what to do with it.

After a while Peter couldn't take the silence anymore and stood on his toes to give Wade a kiss. He didn't want his lover to feel uncomfortable, but at the same time he wanted him to act differently. But how should he make him change his behavior without pushing him again? He just wanted Wade to be open and to take something for himself, but apparently he had to force that on him. Which made Peter feel bad again in return, because he was once again patronising Wade. It was just a complicated constellation.

"I just want you to feel good," he mumbled softly, leaning against Deadpool.

The merc accepted Peter's weight and wrapped his arms around the young man in a way that was, by now, comfortably familiar. "But I already do, Baby Boy," he stated.

"Good," Peter hummed, snuggling inside Wade's arms. "Then just let me keep that up, okay? Let me spoil you a bit every now and then. I want to give to you, not only take."

"Sure," Wade responded simply, though he had absolutely no experience with attending to his own wants and needs in anything more than a tertiary manner. A pang of panic shot through his stomach at the thought of possibly failing Peter in this as well. Luckily, the elevator doors saved him from himself once more. They were beginning to become a very welcome plot contrivance.

Peter pressed another chaste kiss to Wade's jaw and then left the elevator to walk over to their shared room. He waited in front of the door until Wade had opened it with the fingerprint scanner, and then entered the room and strode right over to the bathroom, already pulling his shirt over his head on the way over.

Wade watched him go, eyes lingering on the flex of muscle beneath the teen's skin. Pushing back his hood, he trudged over to the mattress and sat heavily on the edge.

"Aren't you joining me?" Peter called after a moment.

"But I already showered," the merc responded, confused.

"But not with me," Peter stated. "But you don't have to, of course. I just thought you maybe would like to rub shower gel all over my naked body."

"Oh, holy fuck," Wade hissed in understanding.

He quickly fell to his knees, scrambling to retrieve and root through his abandoned tactical belt in search of the oil-based lube, just in case. With a cry of triumph, he held it aloft and jogged towards the sound of running water, losing clothing as he went. By the time he entered the steamy room, only his breakaway pants remained.

Peter was already standing under the huge-ass waterfall-shower that would be doing any high end spa justice and grinned at Wade as he entered.

"Seems that I convinced you," he quipped.

"Well, you had a very solid argument," Wade retorted. The gleaming smile on his face was neatly reflected in the massive backsplash of black granite comprising the generous shower stall. Once he noticed Peter's eyes covertly sliding down his chest, Wade used the opportunity to rip the track pants off in one clean sweep. He had been waiting to do that ever since he put them on in the gym.

"Mmh," the teen hummed, leaning his back against the wall in a tantalising curve. "I love hot, strong men with a lot of muscles."

He raised one arm and made an inviting gesture with his finger, looking up at Wade with bedroom eyes.

Wade's breath hitched at both the sight of Peter's sensuously posed body and the way the word 'love' sounded as it fell from his parted lips. He stepped around the glass partition and simply took in the beauty of Peter's lines.

"And I love brainy, talented young men with witty personalities," he responded, testing the temperature of the water before joining Peter beneath the spray.

"Oh, what a coincidence!" Peter exclaimed. "Seems we fit perfectly together, then!"

He reached out and let his hand slide up Wade's stomach and chest before it came to a rest on Wade's neck. Peter's gaze followed the movement and then locked on the merc's eyes.

Wade couldn't help but meet him with eyes half lidded and crinkled at the corners by a tender smile. Warm water sluiced down Peter's back and swirled around their feet. But it was Wade's skin that roared like a furnace against his chest.

"Yeah, we do," he responded with nothing but raw honesty.

Peter smiled and nodded. Then he reached up and snatched at Wade's lips to involve them into a passionate kiss.

The merc capitulated with marked enthusiasm. He pulled Peter close enough that their bodies left no space for the flowing rivulets of water and immediately deepened the kiss. Peter's lips parted and accepted him just as sweetly as every time before. A hot curl of fondness and arousal churned in his gut, accompanied by the imagined sensation of his stomach flipping.

Peter slung his arms around Wade's neck and pressed against him tightly. It felt so good and so right to be that close to him, to be held in his arms, to taste him on his lips. This was where he was safe. This was where he belonged.

He pushed off the ground to wrap his legs around Wade's hips and waist and hold onto him even more snuggly. There was a fire burning in his chest, a hot feeling of need, desire, passion, desperation and affection that drove Peter to basically devour Wade's mouth with his own. Right now, he never wanted to part from him again.

Though unexpected, Wade supported Peter's weight with ease and slid his hands down to firmly knead the teen's thighs and pert buttocks as they consumed each other.

Peter shuddered from the sensation and moaned into Wade's mouth. His cock was already pressing against Wade's stomach and Peter garnered some friction by moving his hips against the other man's body.

Their panting breaths blew the building steam about in gentle eddies as they finally pulled away. "Peter," Wade moaned, grinding his own sizeable erection in the slick press of their bodies. He turned and pressed Peter's back against the still cool granite wall.

"Huh…?" Peter responded, mouth open and eyes glassy from lust.

"Fuck, can you raise your hands up and stick em to the wall?" Wade asked huskily.

Peter nodded, letting his arms slip from Wade's neck. "Yeah…" he mumbled and pressed his fingertips against the wall. "Like that?"

"Mmm, perfect. Now, don't let go," the merc ordered breathily as he took a small step back until only Peter's hands and shoulders remained supported by the backsplash. He repositioned Peter's thighs lower on his hips so that their flushed erections stood tall together, pulsing with one heartbeat.

Peter looked down at himself to where their cocks met, breathing heavily from arousal and anticipation.

"Are you gonna…?" he asked, shivering from the thought of it alone.

"Oh yeah, 'I'm gonna,'" the merc responded, voice laced with humor. He planted one hand on the wall for balance as he used his toes to retrieve the small bottle of oil from where it circled lazily around the drain. Once in hand, he poured a steady stream of lubricant on their paired members and used one broad palm to capture them both. The discoloration of Wade's mottled skin next to the perfect rosy flush of Peter's cockhead made for a stunningly beautiful dichotomy. Wade would have to ask Peter about his photography later.

The teen gave a hoarse moan as Wade grabbed both of their erections and let his head fall back against the wall.

"Fuck, yes…" he whispered towards the ceiling.

Wade curled his fingers around the top of Peter's shaft, his thumb resting against his own member, and began with a gentle but firm stroke. He pulled his palm up and over their swollen cockheads until the tunnel of his hand nearly disappeared and then pressed down to imitate the feeling of penetration for them both. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

Peter moaned again and bucked his hips to drive his erection inside Wade's fist.

"Fuck, Wade," he gasped, drawing his hips back again. "Shit, yes… Give me more…"

"You holding on tight, Baby Boy?" the merc growled, slapping Peter's wet thigh to indicate his leg lock.

Peter tightened his legs to show Wade that he was, and nodded. "Yeah, I am," he murmured. "Just give it to me… Give it to me, Wade…"

There it was again. The odd feeling of fluttering in Wade's stomach flared once more as lust commingled with love and adoration at Peter's prayerful pronouncement of his name.

With a pained groan, Wade began to slowly rock into the tight tunnel of his hand and Peter's shaft. He continued stroking them both in a much more rotational manner, the only vertical motion arising from the now strong, sure thrusts of his hips. His and Peter's cocks ground together with delicious friction, the flares of their glans' catching with each slick thrust.

Each move made Peter moan or gasp and he began to buck his hips once more to match Wade's strokes.

"God, this feels so good," he panted. "That's so good, Wade. Shit… Shit! Aw, fuck! Fuck, yes, just like that! GOD!"

He arched his back and bit his lower lip, only to let his mouth fall open again right afterwards to moan Wade's name with devotion.

"Language," the merc chided with a huff of laughter. Shower spray pelted down Peter's chest as he strained against his self-made bonds. With the teen gasping for breath, nipples taut and cheeks flushed, Wade could only think that desperation borne solely of pleasure was a good look for him.

Beads of precome joined the oil on Wade's hand unnoticed. Finally, he pushed off of the wall and stood tall, never stopping the force or frequency of his pistoning hips. He gathered some of the excess oil on the index finger of his now-free hand and reached beneath their conjoined bodies. Peter's buttocks were already spread wide from his position and allowed for easy access. So, Wade took the opportunity to slide his finger teasingly along the perimeter of Peter's hole and press in with one long, smooth motion that allowed the teen's body no time to accommodate to the intrusion.

Peter screamed in ecstasy and jerked up. The penetration was adding even more pleasure to the situation and his body, already bursting from arousal, began to shake uncontrollably.

"More!" Peter pleaded. "Give me more, Wade! I want more, please! Oh God, Wade, _please_ , fuck me with your fingers!"

"Shiiiiit, babe," Wade hissed, nearly at the breaking point. With a herculean effort, he managed to stave off his orgasm through sheer force of will. It was an incredibly close call.

As soon as he could once more focus on the task at hand, he removed his finger from Peter's clenching anus and gathered more lubricant. When he returned to embed himself in the teen again, it was with two fingers instead. The way was tight, but Wade managed to press in until he could physically go no further. Then, he began to curl his fingers and thrust shallowly, in time with his hips.

With the dual sensation of penetration and being penetrated, he didn't suspect Peter would last much longer.

And he didn't.

Only a few seconds in, another scream left Peter's throat and his body convulsed as he came, his walls clenching around Wade's fingers and his release shooting over their bodies and Wade's hand. A long, throaty moan accompanied Peter's climax, followed by some low, breathy "Shit"s until the spasms were over and he went limp against the wall.

Wade slid his hands off of Peter and rinsed them in the shower spray before wrapping his arms around the kid's lower back and shoulders.

"You can let go now, Sweetheart. Just hold on to me," Wade stated with nothing but soft adoration in his voice.

Peter hummed and pushed himself off the wall to wrap his arms around Wade's neck once more, holding onto him like a monkey. He buried his face between his own arm and Wade's head and stayed that way, pressing his body against Wade's tightly.

Turning so that his back was pressed up against the wall, Wade slid down and sat with splayed legs amidst the swirl of water in the bottom of the shower. Spray nearly blinded him, but he paid it no mind. Instead, he hugged Peter tightly and planted a series of kisses along his neck while he gently thrust his still raging erection into the sticky press of skin and release. It wasn't long until, with a strangled groan, he rode the waves of his orgasm and flooded his own chest with a preternaturally searing surge of come.

For a long moment, they simply sat, intertwined, and reveled in the post-coital afterglow.

Finally, Wade blindly reached up and managed to knock down a bottle of body wash from the mid-height ledge above. He caught it before it hit the floor.

"So, if I recall correctly, there was a promise of 'rubbing shower gel all over your naked body,'" he murmured with a lazy grin.

Peter chuckled lowly and kissed Wade's ear. "You are very correct," he confirmed. "Go ahead, my body is all yours."

Humming contentedly, Wade squeezed the soap into his hands and went about reverently lathering every inch of skin that he could reach without shifting positions. When he could go no further, the merc sat up more fully and wedged his broad palms between them to wash off Peter's firm chest and abdomen.

"Hey, um, do you want to return the favor?" he asked hesitantly, once finished with his task. Peter said that he should request the things that made him feel good, wanted. Despite a lifetime of ignoring his own happiness in favor of serving the pleasure of others, he resolved to try his best.

Peter looked at him in surprise, but then smiled widely and nodded. "Yes, sure," he assured cheerily. "I would love to!"

It made him incredibly happy that Wade had suggested this. It meant he was actively battling his self-loathing and was opening up to Peter. It also meant that he had accepted Peter's request to ask for something he himself would like and was allowing himself to be coddled.

"Give me the soap," Peter demanded and held out his hand with a smile.

Obliging Peter's request was as easy as breathing.

Wade handed over the body-wash quickly and shifted beneath him with a nervous grin. As physical as they had been both sexually and casually in the past week, this felt more like intimacy that anything prior.

Peter smiled a little wider to provide Wade reassurance. Then he slid off his lap and scooted down to the merc's feet. He grabbed one and poured some soap into his palm that he then began to gently rub over Wade's shin in little circles, working down to his calf, before he softly ran his palm up Wade's sole and then took the whole foot between his hands to cover it in shower gel.

Rubbing his thumbs against Wade's toes, Peter looked up to see whether his partner was comfortable with the treatment.

The merc had leaned his head back to rest against the wall and was sporting a blissed out expression, lips slack and eyes fluttering. To have someone so willing to touch him in this gentle, reverent manner was almost too much. The water cascaded down his body like a soothing embrace.

Peter smiled fondly and grabbed Wade's second foot to repeat the procedure. He slowly worked his way up Deadpool's legs, then washed his front with the same tender thoroughness. After that he went down Wade's shoulders and upper arms to his hands, softly letting each and every finger slide through his own slick palms. Finally he placed his hands on Wade's hips and pulled him back from the wall to sit on his lap again and rub body-wash all over his back. The last thing he did was caress the back of Wade's head with one soaped hand before he softly pushed it down to make Wade's face rest against Peter's shoulder.

"There," he whispered, stroking Wade's head with his thumb. "All clean."

Tears poured down Wade's face, swept away by the shower spray.

"Did you make sure to scrub my hair?" he asked, voice thick, as he looped his arms around Peter's waist.

Peter laughed lowly, squeezing Wade gently. "Yes, each strand," he promised.

He would make sure from now on to more often appreciate Wade's body. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could make Wade feel better about himself one day.

"Thanks. 'Cause I completely missed yours," Wade teased. He sniffled once, hoping that it went unnoticed and reached up for the shampoo. Pouring out a liberal amount into his hands, he sunk his fingers into Peter's thick hair and massaged his scalp.

Again, Peter laughed. "That's fine," he assured, but then hummed contently as Wade began to wash his hair. No one had done this in years and he had long forgotten how good it felt to have someone nonsexually take care of his body.

A comfortable silence fell between them as Wade eased Peter's head into the spray and rinsed his hair all the while cupping his forehead with one hand to keep the water from his eyes. He repeated the procedure with conditioner and allowed his hands to linger. Soon, he trailed his hands down Peter's neck, still slightly conditioner slick, and kneaded at the knots in his shoulders.

The teen smiled widely, relaxing into the touch. "Thank you," he said lowly, his own hands resting against Wade's chest.

"No, thank you, Baby Boy," Wade responded, returning the smile.

Still smiling, Peter leaned forward to press a soft kiss to Wade's brow.

"After you make my shoulders soft as butter, how about we go for a quick snack before I see what Tony came up with in the lab?" he asked.

Wade leaned into the touch. "Yeah, that sounds nice," he murmured. Without warning, he swept one of his thick legs beneath him and abruptly rocked his weight forward, standing with one strong push. He held Peter tightly against his chest and kicked at the control panel on the wall to disengage the water flow.

Peter gave a surprised sound and held onto Wade just as tight. All those casual demonstrations of Wade's strength and fitness were one of the reasons this man could make Peter swoon in no time.

"Mmm, I mean it, thanks, Peter. For everything," Wade said as he set Peter down and retrieved a fluffy, red towel to drape over the teen's dripping hair.

Peter made an"mh" sound and used one hand to lightly rub the towel over his head. "Well, I mean it too. Thank you, Wade. For all that you're doing for me."

Rubbing his hand over his face, Wade groaned. "Speaking of appreciation. We should probably save some of this good will for Tony's ego. I've been being a total douche," he whined.

"You were stressed," Peter tried to soothe him. "Just apologize. I haven't really thanked him yet for taking me in either. We can go and be nice to him together."

Chuckling, Wade proceeded to dry himself off with swift, perfunctory motions. "Be nice to him together…" he repeated, his chuckles turning into deep guffaws. The thought was so ludicrous that he curled over and clutched his stomach, wheezing with laughter.

"Oh my Gooood," Peter groaned while rolling his eyes. "You sick pervert."

He gave his hair a vicious towel-rubbing session before he dried the rest of his body, shaking his head over the laughing man.

"Please, that man wouldn't touch me with a ten foot pole," Wade retorted, breathless. He retrieved his pants from the floor and walked out into the bedroom. The clothing situation may be a problem, he thought idly.

"Doesn't change the fact you just died laughing over the thought of us having a threesome," Peter stated, following him. "I should have brought more shirts," he then mused as he grabbed his bag and pulled fresh clothes out. "And more everything. I won't last long with what I have in here."

"I guess you'll just have to go au naturale from now on. You and Clint can be the resident red blanket bros. Shit, I'm in the same situation though, so maybe I'll join you two. We can call ourselves 'Team Red,'" Deadpool drawled as he eyed the track suit distastefully.

"Or," Peter suggested, "we can just ask Tony to get us new stuff. He's rich enough for that, isn't he? And even if he's got a problem with that, _you_ are rich enough for that too, so he can just use your money for it and send one of his servants."

"Jesus, you're way better at this hifalutin shit than I am," Wade teased, then looked up at the ceiling. "Hey, Jarv, my buddy, my main man," he called out. To this day, he still couldn't understand why it felt so natural to look up.

"How may I assist you Mr. Wilson?" Jarvis' voice replied smoothly.

"Alright, buddy, I'm going to let you slide just this once, but only because I have a favor to ask. We need some threads," the merc began, grimacing from the force of restraining himself. His pimp game garnered no respect.

"My sincerest gratitude, sir," Jarvis replied with biting sarcasm. "I have already placed an order for clothing, custom tailored to your respective measurements and… tastes. Mr. Stark has seen to sending up several new suits as well, sir. I believe they have been embedded with the nitrile overcoat and nanobotic regeneration capacity as per your specifications, and are currently occupying a place of honor on the floor just outside of your door."

"You're the man! Robot… voice thing…" Wade trailed off after his initial exclamation of joy.

Peter frowned and looked up at the ceiling as well, though of course nothing was to be seen there.

"Can he see us?" he mumbled in Wade's direction.

The quiet note of insecurity in Peter's voice pulled Wade's joy up short. He should have warned Peter.

"Nah, I asked Tony to give us some privacy. Jarv will activate and respond if you say his name, but he doesn't have any surveillance activated in our room. I trust Stark to keep his word," he explained, stepping close enough to link fingers with Peter.

The teen nodded slightly, moving closer to Wade instinctively. It wasn't that he didn't trust the Avengers, but he still felt very uneasy when potential footage or recordings of him were involved.

Wade squeezed his hand and hugged him with one massive arm. "Hey, it's all good. There's nothing to worry about, Spider-babe," he stated softly into Peter's hair. "So how about we cover up this sneak peek of Magic Mike XXL and go get some grub?"

"Myeah," Peter agreed, placing one hand on Wade's muscular stomach. "Can you get the clothes inside? I don't want to get out there being naked."

With a sly grin, Wade slid away and went to retrieve the promised delivery. He returned in a matter of seconds and haphazardly tossed two large bags on the bed. Like a smartass, Tony had apparently obtained Toys R' Us Babies gift bags and tied a binky to each of the twine handles.

"Seriously," Peter mumbled as he came over to the bed. "As if he doesn't know that we both have other things to suck on. Which one is mine?"

He tried to peek in one of the bags to see what was inside.

Wade shrugged and flopped onto the bed, arms folded behind his head. "Fucked if I know. I guess the one that's more skater punk chic and less anti-stabby?"

"Skater punk chic? That's what I am to you? Wow. I'll have to rethink my choice of being with you," Peter decided and grabbed the bag that didn't contain red and black supersuits. He pulled a shirt out of it to give it a look, then nodded. "Looks like a 50 dollar shirt. Normally I'd buy 3 shirts for that." He put it on and went ahead to search the bag for boxers, socks and a new pair of jeans. Each of the items was worth much more than Peter would have ever paid for clothes himself.

The force of Wade's rolling eyes could have launched the space shuttle. "Fifty dollars? That glorified come rag is Gucci; try over a grand. It's probably made out of Tupac's tears or something," he said with a laugh as he sat up and pulled out the redesigned suit. The color block pattern had shifted, but it still screamed sex and murder. Plus, the crotch looked to be a bit more snuggly contoured. That alone was worth the wait.

"Gucci?" Peter gave a low whistle. "Wow. Now Tony does in fact deserve a threesome."

He put on the rest of the clothes and looked down at himself. He honestly felt a bit uncomfortable in such expensive stuff, but it was definitely better than his own, overworn things.

Ignoring the threesome comment, Deadpool rose from the bed and retrieved a bowie knife from his spread of weapons on the floor. Without warning, he stabbed straight through the new suit and mattress in one blow.

"Whoa, and what's wrong with _you_ ," Peter asked after he had jumped back in surprise. "Giving it the Deadpool vibe? _You_ are going to sleep on that part tonight."

"Look!" Wade said excitedly as the fabric immediately sealed back to its original condition. The mattress, however, did not. "Stark developed some sort of super spiffy nanotech because he got tired of me fucking up my suits every other day," he explained.

"Uh-huh. That's great. You're still sleeping on that hole in the mattress tonight," Peter determined. He still got back to the bed and had a look at the suit. "That's awesome. How does that work? Memorising hyperpenatronics? I read about that in an article once. They wanted to use it on cars or something."

"Hyperpenatronics? Isn't that what we just did in the shower?" Wade asked with a smirk. He offered one of the gloves for Peter to peruse. "I dunno the specifics, but the material itself is made out of some sort of nanobots, so it's super tough and self-healing. Ordinary knives wouldn't normally go through it. This fucker just happens to be made out of Vibranium," he expounded as he flipped his knife and deftly plucked it out of the air. "And the nitrile overcoat is essentially for waterproofing. Well, bloodproofing in my case." The suit went on as smoothly as silk and conformed to his body like a glove. "Huh, probably shouldn't have gone commando."

"Wait, vibranium? Can I see?" Peter's voice spoke of the huge science-boner he had right now. Nanobots! Hyperpenatronics! _Vibranium!_ All things he had always dreamed about and now they were right in front of his nose!

"Sure, babe," Deadpool said with a shrug. He made the knife dance across his knuckles before handing it hilt-first to Peter. The sheer joy on the kid's face was heart-warming. If this was all it took to bring him to life, Peter was going to have a field day in Tony's lab.

"It also makes a great can opener," he stated idly.

Peter didn't even listen to the joke and took the knife in his hands reverentially. He carefully ran a finger over the side of the blade, marveling at the metal.

"Where did you get that from?" he mumbled. "I thought Wakanda keeps this to themselves. Only Captain America's shield is made from this outside of their state."

"I filched it off of King Ta-whateverthefuck. He was so pissed. But, by the time he found out, I had already made it disappear like a world class cocaine mule. Goddamn, I got my ass royally handed to me after that," Wade laughed at both the memory and the clever pun. T'Challa's face had been absolutely priceless when Wade told him where the knife had gone. When he had finished breaking every bone in Wade's body, Black Panther had told him just to keep the thing.

Peter grimaced and let the knife drop onto the bed, wiping his fingers on his jeans overdramatically. "That was more information than I actually needed, thank you," he commented. Instead of the knife he now grabbed the glove again, giving it another curious inspection.

"This is so awesome," he muttered to himself. "I need to ask Tony how this works. Can I borrow it for a while?"

"You are such an adorable nerd," the merc observed fondly. "Go for it. There are extras." The new mask was just as feather-light as the suit and allowed him to breathe as if his mouth and nose weren't completely encased. It was genuinely well crafted.

"Thank you!" Peter exclaimed, giving Wade a big smile. "Then I'll head over to the lab with it now!"

"Okay, Baby Boy. Do you want some company, or are you and Tony going to jerk off each other's science boners?" Wade asked.

"Ugh, why do you always have to perv!" Peter whined and hit Wade with his own glove. "You can come if you want to. And I don't mean that in the sexual way, you weirdo."

"It's part of my charm." Wade pretended to brush his hair back over his shoulder with a breathy sigh. "But, you go on ahead and get your nerdgasm on. I've got a few things to discuss with Clint and Natasha anyways," he offered. "I'll walk you to the lab first though if you want."

"Yes, please," Peter nodded. He didn't feel comfortable enough in this strange environment yet to be on his own. He by now trusted Tony enough to spend the afternoon alone with him - especially when it was for science! - but to be completely without someone in this huge tower was too much.

"Are you sure that's okay? I can stay too, no problem, babe," Wade asked, frowning slightly as he sat on the bed and slipped his boots on. "I just didn't want to throw off your science groove."

Peter nodded again. "I think it's fine, yeah. Tony is okay, I guess. I will be good. And I don't want you to become bored either, so go talk to Clint."

"Alright," Wade responded. His beloved katanas were in the locker room and would have to be retrieved later on. Their conspicuous absence made his shoulders itch. Instead, he sheathed his knife in his boot and holstered three sidearms. He was packing light, but honestly, no amount of weapons would stop Black Widow if he pissed her off. "You ready?" he asked, holding out his hand toward Peter.

The teen smiled slightly and put his hand in the merc's, enjoying the soft squeeze as it closed around his palms and fingers.

"Yes, I'm ready," he responded.

Notes:

Look at this absolutely amazing fanart julee-ya drew for us! :333

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

Peter was fidgeting the entire way to the lab. Each step had him more and more excited, like a kid on their way to the Christmas tree, and he just couldn't hide it. Science! Finally! It had by far been his best subject in school and he had loved it as a hobby as well. He had built tons of little gimmicks and gadgets, like a door lock controlled by a game console remote. Ever since he had fled and was living as an escort, the chances to do anything other than survive had been low. He had sometimes bought cheap supplies from the second-hand electronic store and tinkered a bit, but that hadn't been the same as his little lab back in Aunt May's and Uncle Ben's garage. Now he finally, finally had the chance to do something big again, probably bigger than anything he had ever dreamed of. After all, this was the lab of Iron Man, and Tony Stark himself would be there to help him out! This was crazy! This was like… there wasn't even a proper comparison! He would be engineering with freaking _Iron Man!_

They arrived at the relatively inconspicuous lab door before Peter had realized. Considering Tony's bent for the ostentatious, he never would have suspected that this was the entryway to the world's foremost center of technological discovery and development.

"Alright, Baby Boy, here's your stop. If you need anything at all I'm just a breathy moan away," Wade stated as the door swished open.

Peter peeked inside of the lab, his heart beating fast from the excitement.

"Mmh," he hummed towards Wade, pulling at the hem of his own shirt to somehow occupy his twitchy fingers. "See you later, babe."

Wade immediately perked up at the pet name and swooped in to place a quick peck against Peter's cheek. "Have fun, kid," he stated softly, then turned to yell into the room. "Tony, your unpaid laborer is here!"

"Perfect!" Tony called back from where he stood in front of a table, fumbling with tech. "Come over, kiddo. Jarvis and I have some ideas to show you."

Peter didn't have to be told twice. He was at Tony's side in no time, marveling at all the devices and parts haphazardly scattered across the desk. This was a technological wonderland.

Tony glanced up from his work and grinned broadly.

"So, check this out, I've been working on that 'web' you were talking about and came up with this. Now, it's just a prototype, so it can be tweaked. But essentially, Jarvis was able to manufacture a long-chain polymer, kinda like nylon but able to withstand a higher load capacity," Tony explained. "The polymer can knit itself together to weave a super tough and highly flexible fiber. Oh, and it's sticky as hell," he muttered, gesturing to where Dum-E was dejectedly bemoaning his fate, completely wrapped up in the webbing. "Anyways, the adhesive properties diminish over time when in contact with the air and, over the course of about an hour, imbibed esters will reduce it to powder. Be thankful that you won't have to do your own trash collection."

Peter laughed and nodded. "Yeah, that would suck," he commented.

"The only thing I haven't found out yet is how to actually transport the stuff," Tony went on. "I mean, you could of course coil the fiber up, but that would take away lots of space and would be highly impractical. Also it would be sticking everywhere, so it would be a pain in the ass to transport."

"Huh," Peter grunted. He was leaning over the table, supporting his weight with his lower arms that were lying on the desk, and started biting his lower lip in thought. "We would have to find a way to make it smaller," he mused. "A lot smaller, actually, and less sticky."

"Exactly," Tony agreed. "Or at least to contain it somewhere so it can't stick while being transported."

"How about liquefying it?" Peter suggested. "Liquids take up less space than solid forms. And it's easier to fill a liquid into a small container."

"Wow," the engineer acknowledged. "You _are_ good in this. How do you think liquefying it would work? Just curious."

"Heat?" Peter shrugged. "Pressure? Normally that's what incites a state change in matter."

Tony nodded. "Heat won't work, this stuff is heat-resistant. But we could try pressure."

"Perfect," Peter said. "If we can design some pressurized canisters, that would settle the transportation issue. Then we only need to find a way to make the liquid solidify again quickly when needed."

"Oh, I'm sure we'll figure something out," Tony assured with a lopsided grin and gently slapped Peter's back. "You're good kid."

Peter smiled, overflowing with joy from the compliment. "Thanks," he muttered.

Tony winked at him before pulling his hand away and clapping it together with his other one once. "Alright!" he exclaimed. "Let's get to work!"

Meanwhile, Wade had promptly returned to the guestroom.

He took careful note of the position of Peter's duffel bag, the lay of the zipper, and any other positional detail that was directly observable. Then he quickly examined the contents and fished out the thumb drive. There was no time to wait. Peter would likely be gone for quite some time, but Wade wasn't going to risk it. He retrieved a Stark pad from the desk drawer and pulled up the massive collection of data files with perfunctory efficiency.

As he and Peter had been going through the files more thoroughly the day prior, Wade had briefly noticed an inconspicuous file chain on SHIELD's partition labeled 'Oscorp Personnel.' It was child's play to break the already compromised encryption, locate Norman Osborn, and peruse the contents. SHIELD was nothing if not thorough. For the next hour Wade memorized every personal detail and life event concerning Oscorp's founder until he knew Norman as intimately as the man knew himself. Finally, the mercenary rubbed his eyes to relieve the strain and went about dissecting the publicly available blueprints of both the Oscorp facility and Osborn's known residences. Satisfied, he returned the Stark pad to the desk drawer and replaced the thumb drive in its original spot. He replaced the shirt that had hidden it from direct view and pleated the fabric back into its prior pattern of wrinkles. With that, he zipped the bag closed and counted the stitches to place the zipper pull exactly back where it had been before.

Peter would never know.

And Norman would never see it coming.

Wade placed a call and sat down heavily on one of the plush leather recliners, tugging his mask off and resolving to wait patiently for Clint to show up. A soft knock on the door some minutes later heralded the end of his wait.

"Clint, ole buddy, ole pal. I have a serious favor to ask you that would likely get us both on the Avengers' shit list. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred GQ photo-spreads," Deadpool stated with a disarming grin as he answered the door.

"Wade," Clint growled, warningly as he glanced at the camera lenses embedded in the walls.

"It's all good, Harvey Birdman. Tony gave me his word that there was no surveillance in this room," Wade responded cheerily. At Clint's dark expression, Deadpool dropped all playful affect and held up a small black remote. "Plus, I like to keep honest people honest," he stated, returning the scrambler back into the depths of his tactical belt. "Anyways, have a seat," he prompted. Wade sank into his oversized chair once more, but Clint remained standing, arms crossed over his chest.

"What's this about?" he asked suspiciously.

Deadpool leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. "I need to kill a very, very bad man," he began, only for Barton to cut him off immediately.

"Absolutely not, Wade, you know I can't help you with that sort of stuff anymore," Clint stated quickly.

Eyes narrowing, Wade's shoulders coiled as if about to lunge. "No, I know Hawkeye can't help me with that sort of shit. But I ain't fucking asking _Hawkeye_." He spit out the name like a curse. "I'm asking Clint fucking Barton, my friend, to do me a solid with some surveillance. I ain't even askin' you to get your pretty little super-hero hands dirty. If anyone's spilling blood it's going to be me," he snarled. Holding his hands up between them, Clint nodded more so as a way to calm Wade down than as a true acceptance of the task.

"Alright, dude, gotcha. But you're going to have to explain. I mean, what's the deal? First you show up with this kid out of the blue, now this? What's going on?" Barton asked tiredly as he reached for the desk chair and sunk into it.

Wade quickly recapped the past week, leaving out the particularly juicy bits.

"So, what I need from you is just some recon. You know I'm the fucking best at what I do, but these guys already have my number. I don't want to spook them into hiding before I have the chance to decorate Oscorp in paisley and brain matter chic."

Sighing, Clint looked over at Peter's painfully small duffle, the only thing that hadn't yet been taken from him. "What do you need?" he asked, finally locking eyes with Wade.

"So what if we design the 'webshooters' similarly to my portable suit beacons? So kinda like twin wristlets. Low profile and a definite hit with the ladies. Or guys, alien gods, whatever you're into," Tony finished awkwardly. He cleared his throat. "So anyways." Stark abruptly called up a holo screen with a flick of his hand.

"Jarvis, show me the housing diagram for my wrist beacons and remove all internals," he called out impatiently.

"Calculating, Sir," Jarvis responded immediately.

A flood of blue prints cycled through the screen before a large three dimensional representation of Tony's wristlet housing appeared. The soft blue glow only emphasized his furrowed brow.

"We're going to need some sort of spinneret mechanism that's durable enough for the phase inversion. Stainless steel," he muttered to himself. His fingers flew across the screen until a small, perfectly engineered mechanism was brought to life in seconds. "Any ideas on how we should go about the propulsion of the web liquid before it enters the spinneret?"

Peter chewed on his lip for a moment. "What about a micro turbine? Maybe something milled out of teflon that can resist the adhesiveness of the web fluid when it's submerged?" he offered hesitantly, then continued as soon as he realized that Tony hadn't stopped him. "The pump vanes could compress the web fluid and force it through the spinneret. Then it would cold draw the polymer and make it electrostatically attract to itself, essentially forming a strand of web!" he finished excitedly.

"That's perfect!" Tony exclaimed as he studied Peter sidelong, assessing. He quickly created another overlay of data on the blueprint. "The bearings will have to be made out of amber or artificial sapphire. Maybe both. And the primary housing of my beacon is mostly nickel-plated annealed brass, which should work for this too."

He aligned the newly designed mechanisms into the housing.

"And those little canisters could be locked in against a solenoid needle valve once they're slipped into position. That would provide flow on demand. The only thing is how would you want to activate it?" Tony asked, rubbing his beard in puzzlement.

Peter recalled the natural lines that his body had instinctively taken in his earlier sparring match with Wade. He would need to be able to activate them one-handed and in any position.

"How about a palm switch? Maybe one that has a pretty high poundage requirement to be triggered," he suggested thoughtfully.

"Yeah, that could work," Tony hummed and softly tapped his lips with his index finger. "Though you'll have to be careful not to trigger it accidentally."

"That's why I said high poundage requirement. I don't intend to accidentally web someone who's shaking my hand."

Tony bit back any comment about other activities that lived off wrist-movements and added another component to the hologram.

"Jarvis, that's gonna be it. Print a 3D model of that as a reference."

"As you wish, sir," Jarvis replied.

"Alright, where did I put the… Dum-E where's the box with the amber? I know I had it somewhere. No, that's my screwdriver-box, you useless puppy. Wait, I'll search for it myself. Uh, you can already try to find the different metals we need in that board over there. It's all labeled. As soon as the model is done, you can start building the spinneret or the turbine, whatever you like best. I'll be back in - OUCH! Who the hell leaves armor parts lying around on the floor! … Me, probably. Since no one else enters this lab. God, I need someone to take care of me sometimes," Tony sighed and then vanished into another part of his workshop.

Peter only grinned and shook his head before he went over to the board to start going through the material that they needed. He couldn't wait to get this done! It would be so cool if the shooters actually worked!

It took them quite a while to get there, though. Both Peter and Tony were without doubt geniuses, but they were also the incarnation of utter idiots and even though they had the perfect plan, making this plan actually work gave them both a hard time. They glued their fingers together with the sticky fluid more than once and when the shooter was finally built, using it for the first time was doing more damage than it was doing good. They had to rebuild it three times until it finally did what it was supposed to do and by then the entire lab was covered in sticky webs, threads and puddles of fluid. When Wade entered the workshop, it looked like a poorly decorated Haunted House.

"What the actual fuck?" he called out to the seemingly empty workshop in question.

"Wade!" came the cheery response from Peter. Only a moment later, the teen appeared from behind a shelf and smiled at his lover widely. "Come here, you have to see this! It works! It really works! We built the webshooters!"

Raising a brow beneath his mask, Wade cautiously strode over to meet him. "Please don't tell me that this is all coming from your ass."

Peter laughed and shook his head. "No, it's from my wrist! Look at this!" He flicked his wrist in a fast, powerful movement and a string of web-fiber shot out of the bracelet around it, sticking to the nearest wall like an actual spiderweb. Peter laughed in excitement. "See!"

"Holy shit, Baby Boy," Deadpool commented, then whistled lowly. He threw his arm over Peter's shoulders and gave him a congratulatory squeeze. "At least we know who the brains of this operation is."

"I only did half of the work," Peter smiled, leaning against Wade. He was very tense because he was still pumped with endorphins. "Tony developed the material and most of the design. It was teamwork."

Wade groaned dramatically. "Ah, hell. Before you know it he's going to have you in spandex and toeing the Avenger's party line. Then Steve is going to steal you away with those hypnotizing mammaries and his sultry voice as he waxes poetic about freedom and shit. Don't do it, babe. I need you," he whined as he clung more tightly.

Peter laughed again and placed his hand on Wade's chest. "No worries, I won't leave you," he promised. "I don't want freedom, I want my Deadpool. The only person I'll ever wear spandex for is you."

Snorting in amusement, Wade glanced around the destroyed lab. "Where is Stark?"

"Oh, don't mind me," came a voice from above. "I'm good. Just keep flirting like nobody's watching. Please get out of my field of vision though if you plan on sealing your declarations of love with any other white, sticky substance than this web fluid."

Glancing up slowly, as if in a horror movie, Wade locked eyes with the spectacle on the ceiling. Thick strands of web formed a bulging cocoon with the face of Tony Stark. "Quick, kid, get down! It's the Invasion of the Body Snatchers all over again!" Wade cried shrilly as he dramatically leapt to the ground with Peter in his arms and simultaneously launched a throwing knife at the gossamer thread holding Tony suspended to the ceiling.

Peter gave a muffled sound as he was torn to the ground whereas Tony yelled while falling, magically managing to not land on his face.

"Ouch," he groaned, a mess of limbs and webs. "I think I broke my favorite rib."

"That's what you get for trying to subvert the human race, you good for nothing pod person!" Wade crowed from his sprawled position on the floor.

"My God, Wade, stop that," Peter scolded as he struggled out of Wade's embrace to get to his feet. He got a scalpel from the table and crouched down beside Tony to cut him out of the webbing. "Are you hurt?" he asked, taking care to not web himself to the man on the ground.

"Only my pride," Tony grunted, freeing himself from the last bits of web fiber. "That's not the first time I fell down from something, kid, don't worry. Failing is a part of science."

"Failing, maybe, but not being almost killed by your own houseguest," Peter snorted with a glance at Wade.

"Oh, I don't see him as a guest," Tony stated, carefully getting up. "He's more like living interior that comes and goes and has no manners."

"Oh, that's rich," Wade muttered as he flipped onto his feet. "Oh, Deadpool, you're such a bad guy! How dare you realize that being upside down for extended periods of time can increase cardiac load in unforeseen ways. Oh em gee, you're such an asshole, Deadpool! What kind of monster would see that his so-called friend's carotid was pulsing at a dangerously high rate and try to save his already fucked ticker from cardiac arrest? What a fucking douchebag, Deadpool!" he railed, throwing his arms in the air as he stormed off across the lab.

"Hey, hey, hey, calm it." Tony held up his hands appeasingly, trying to shake off some webs from his shin. "I didn't say you're a bad guy for helping me down. Letting me fall without catching me was a dick-move, though. Cardiac arrest isn't really a problem anymore when your skull splits open, you know. Don't overreact, you know that you have a special place in my nonexistent heart."

"You're such an ass!" Wade roared over his shoulder as he swept through the doorway and took distinct pleasure in the puff of air as it closed dramatically behind him.

Stark looked up at the ceiling in resignation. "I didn't raise him like this," he sighed.

Peter huffed and put the scalpel back before he went to follow Wade. "I'm sorry for him," he said while leaving. "Thank you for your help today. It was really fun working with you."

"Oh, don't mention it," Tony waved aside. "I was already repaid with falling from the ceiling."

"Sorry about that again!" Peter called, already half out. Then he left completely to hurry after Wade.

As Peter's feet cleared the threshold, Wade swept the teen up into his arms and nuzzled his hair wildly. "You do care!" he exclaimed with a cheesy grin. The merc then leaned back into the lab. "Love you too, Tonykins!"

"I can feel it warming the empty space in my chest!" Tony called back.

Peter, however, scowled at Wade. "That wasn't a joke. I went after you to kick your ass and make you apologize," he stated.

"Huh? Why? That's how we always are. It's like this weird odd couple vibe. Tony shows his affection by the occasional repulsor blast to the face, and I return his love by splattering my brain matter all over his nice white sofa. See, it's a perfectly functional relationship," Deadpool stated, bemused.

Peter rolled his eyes and dropped his voice to a whisper. "You said you wanted to make it up to him because you were ungrateful after he took us both in and is helping us out. Stop behaving like a dick. I don't care if that's how you always are. He spent the entire day helping me train and build these shooters and he bought us all those clothes. He made you the new suits. Aren't you gonna say thank you?"

Sighing in resignation, Wade set Peter down.

"You're right," he admitted as he determinedly trudged his way back across the lab to where Tony was still picking web out of his hair. "Hey," he greeted as he grabbed Tony's shoulder and spun him in place. Ignoring the man's surprised protest, Wade wrapped him in a bear hug so that Tony's face was partially embedded in the cleft between his pecs. "I'm sorry I nearly broke your tender body. You had so much of that web stuff around you that I thought you would bounce like the Michelin Man. That was a miscalculation on my part and I'm sorry if my dumb ass got you hurt," he explained contritely.

When Tony tried to pull away, Wade only hugged him tighter. "Nope. Listen to these words. I have nothing but the utmost respect for you, your boundless generosity, and that sexy, sexy brain. I know I'm an asshole at the best of times, but regardless, I just want you to know that I am deeply appreciative of everything you have done for me. Even more than that, I can't thank you enough for how understanding and kind you've been towards Peter. Anything you need, you know you can always ask. Except for the D. Peter's called dibs. But I'm sure if you ask real nice we can touch tips or something," Wade finished, kissing the top of Tony's head obnoxiously.

The engineer by now had given up on trying to break free and was just standing inside Wade's arms wearily. He patted the merc's back after he was done talking and sighed against his muscular chest.

"Thanks," he responded. "That's the most touching confession of love I have ever gotten, and believe me, I've gotten many. I will need some time alone to cope with these intense feelings."

"Yeah, yeah. Just remember, it's perfectly okay to cry," Wade retorted, rolling his eyes as he released Tony.

Instead of crying, Tony smiled and patted Wade's arm.

"Advice appreciated. Now off you go. I have some cleaning to do. Also it's quite late, so I'll have Jarvis order pizza. See you in the penthouse," he said.

"Great, thanks!" Deadpool responded. He then turned and jogged back to Peter, enjoying the way his pouches slid up his waist and bounced back down on his hips in his new suit. It was honestly much sleeker. Once he approached the teen, he jogged in place long enough to ask "happy?" then take off sprinting down the corridor with a whoop. He was high on the feeling of tightly knit camaraderie, a sensation that he still wasn't entirely used to.

Peter looked after him with a sigh and a shaking of his head before he followed after him, though walking sedately. This man behaved like a 4-year-old sometimes. How did he even manage to handle him all the time?

Rounding the corner, Wade slid to a stop beside the elevator doors and allowed himself a private smile. This was going well. Peter was growing more comfortable in the tower and with its occupants. Though he was loath to place any strain on the tentative trust between himself and Peter, when the time came, he would be able to use that budding sense of wellbeing to slip away easily. Until then, he had to keep the kid's mind off of Oscorp and make certain that his preparations would simply be brushed off as another of his eccentricities.

Peter reached the elevator a while later due to his slower speed. "I need to change," he stated, brushing a bit of web out of his hair. "And I'm starving. Didn't we originally plan on eating something before I went to the lab? That was a good plan, we should have stuck to that."

"As I recall, you got all hot and bothered by my new duds and shot over to Tony's lab like a kid on Christmas morning," Wade responded with a fond grin.

"Yep, that's absolutely accurate," Peter confirmed and waltzed into the elevator where he boldly leaned against the wall. "Wanna make out til we arrive? And then maybe some more?"

The merc raised a brow and silently appraised Peter's flushed cheeks and the way his fingers repeatedly ghosted across the new Stark tech on his wrists. "This brainy shit really gets your engine revving, doesn't it?" he asked slowly.

Peter laughed, sounding a little hyper. "Hell, yes," he grinned. "Wanna find out how much?"

"Do I fucking ever?" Wade asked rhetorically as he tore his mask off and descended on Peter like a man starved. He grasped Peter's face between both hands and dove down to capture his lips. As he sunk into the sweet haven of the teen's mouth, he vehemently wished that he had removed the gloves so that he could feel Peter's smooth skin against his own.

Peter kissed him back passionately and wrapped his arms around the other man's neck and shoulders. He was biting and sucking at Wade's lips, letting his tongue roam through his mouth and battle with the merc's tongue. He really was pumped up and used the kiss to get it all out. It was a good thing that Wade liked to take whatever Peter had to give.

Squatting slightly, Wade scooped Peter up by the thighs and slammed his back against the elevator wall, never breaking contact.

Peter gave a gasp and then a needy sound while he slung his legs around Wade's body as well. His kissing turned almost violent in its greed.

Wade matched his lover's fervor and ground his quickly swelling erection against the teen's buttocks. There was just something about Peter that tore through whatever self-restraint Wade possessed. He all but devoured Peter's mouth in his single-minded drive to give the kid everything he asked for.

Peter didn't even notice when the doors of the elevator opened because he was too lost in the downright battle their kiss had turned into by now. Endorphins had set his entire body on fire and he didn't hear anything but his pounding heart and didn't feel anything but Wade's hot, heavy body against his own and the slick dance of their tongues.

Luckily, the mercenary's vestibular sense was keen enough to detect the slow in velocity despite the lack of bloodflow to his brain. Backpedaling, he managed to stick his boot in the doorway before the panels slid shut once more. He reluctantly broke the kiss, breathing like he had just finished a marathon. "Let's get back to the room and finish what you started," he said, eyes half-lidded.

Peter nodded, panting as well. "Yeah, I'm all up for that," he mumbled.

Wade pointedly ground his stomach against Peter's sizable erection. "You don't say?" he teased as he gently tapped Peter's legs to release his waist.

The teen grumbled unwillingly. "Can't you carry me," he complained, letting his legs slide off Wade's body.

"Baby Boy, all that bubble butt friction on my junk and I wouldn't even make it to the room," Wade stated with a short bark of laughter. With that, he laced their fingers together and made a beeline directly for their door.

This time Peter didn't wait for Wade to scan his finger against the door-opener and did it himself. He dragged the merc through the doorway and slammed the door shut behind them, immediately leaping at Wade again to attack his mouth.

The merc took his weight with ease and backed up until the backs of his knees hit the bed. They both collapsed in a heap, engulfed by the soft mattress. Rallying himself, Wade pressed against Peter's chest to get him to sit up. The thought that Peter was plenty strong enough to resist the motion made Wade's cock twitch. "Hey, babe? I thought you said you were hungry?" he managed to ask, licking his lips as he unzipped his fly.

"I'm starving," Peter hummed, rocking his hips against Wade's body.

"Well then what are you waiting for? I've got a thick, meaty enchilada with your name on it," Wade prompted, voice husky. He took a firm hold of his own throbbing erection and gave it two strong pulls, making sure to brush Peter's ass with each stroke so that the teen knew exactly what was happening.

Peter grinned, but he was too impatient to make a joke out of this or tease. So he scooted down right away to bend over and drag Wade's suit even further away from his crotch.

"Are you sure you want me to go for it with all my appetite?" he asked.

Wade propped himself up on his elbows and groaned at the enthusiasm. "Petey, I want you to suck me drier than the goddamn Sahara. But you ain't the only thirsty one. Lose the skinny jeans and get your ass back up here," Wade ordered, licking his lips.

Peter shuddered heavily as he realized what Wade planned and gasped in excitement. He quickly knelt to fumble with his fly until he could after three tries finally tear his pants down. He somehow managed to shake and shove them from his legs and send them flying to the ground. Then he spun around and got on all fours, crawling backwards until his crotch hovered over Wade's face.

"There," he whispered, voice thick from arousal. "All yours."

Wade's hips bucked involuntarily. "Holy fuck," he whispered as he tugged Peter's hips down and forced his thighs to splay wide. This kind of brazen display made all of the merc's mental faculties seize to the point of running on instinct alone. He canted his head back and licked a line up the underside of Peter's shaft and back further, laving at the soft skin of the teen's scrotum.

Peter shuddered again and moaned lowly.

"Fuck," he whispered. "I'm gonna suck your soul out, just you wait…"

He shifted his weight to one arm and used his free hand to grab Wade's cock and hold it in place. Then he bent down to circle the tip with his tongue a few times before he let the shaft slide into his mouth as far as he could take it. Closing his lips around it he began to suck heavily.

Breath hitching, Wade continued to fondle Peter's balls with his lips and tongue, gently sucking each into his mouth alternately. The telltale quaking of Peter's thighs urged him further. He quickly took a hold of the teen's flushed cock and stroked him, feeling the skin slip and wrinkle along his dick's solid core. Finally, Wade opened his lips wide and, mindful of his teeth, took Peter's scrotum into his mouth entirely.

Peter gave a muffled moan that sent vibrations through Wade's cock. Even though it was hard to concentrate with Wade working wonders on Peter's balls, the teen somehow managed to keep his mind on the task and began to frantically bob his head, sucking as hard as he could with each movement.

The heady mix of pain and pleasure from too much suction was everything that Wade needed. It was amazing how quickly Peter had come to learn his body's odd nuances. Wade slowed his undulating tongue and pulled off of Peter gently. "Peter. Oh, fuck, kid. Do you think you can fuck my throat?" he pleaded through the violent waves of pleasure in his groin.

Peter hummed approval and stopped sucking for a moment in favor of swallowing around Wade's erection instead. In case Wade wouldn't take the sound for an answer, he thrusted his hips a little to show that he was perfectly fine with the idea. Though that was an understatement.

Wade's eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head at the affirmative response. He grabbed onto Peter's pelvis and tilted his head back to accept the teen's long, thick cock. The bitter taste of precum sat heavily on his tongue.

Peter went back to moving his head, thrusting his hips along in the same rhythm. The tight, hot tunnel of Wade's throat around his erection made him shiver and the friction caused him to grunt and groan around the member in his own mouth. Without really paying attention to it, he began to move faster.

Being pinned down and used very quickly became too much. Wade couldn't hold back from the absolute torrent of release that threatened to crash through the last threads of his self-control. He frantically tapped Peter's thigh in warning.

But Peter didn't give a shit. Instead he swallowed Wade's dick down inside of his throat, welcoming the spurts of hot come that were shot deep inside of his esophagus.

Black dots began to invade Wade's vision at the sensation of orgasming while asphyxiated. Peter's swollen cockhead dragged sweetly in his throat and he could do nothing but take it.

When Wade was completely spent and Peter had swallowed every last drop, Peter withdrew his head to catch his breath. He propped up on both of his arms and used his new position to move his hips again, driving his erection in and out of Wade's mouth faster and faster.

"Oh God, I'm gonna come," he breathed out, eyes shut tight and fingers clenching around the bed sheets. "Fuck, Wade, I'm going to come so hard…"

Wade could only hum his encouragement as Peter's scrotum dragged across his brow and nose with each sharp thrust. The sudden wave of warmth rushing down his throat was a welcome sensation, like being marked from the inside. He could feel the quivering of Peter's thighs where they bracketed his head as the teen rode out the final throes of his passion.

After he was done, Peter flopped down onto the bed next to Wade, whispering a "Fuck" towards the ceiling and then trying to calm down again. He had had a lot of sex in his life due to his line of work, but with Wade it was so completely different. There wasn't even a word to describe how amazing sleeping with the merc felt compared to what Peter had been through with others.

He turned around, heart filled with fondness, and snuggled against Wade's side, throwing his arm over the man's chest. By now it was so easy for him to understand why someone would like to cuddle after sex. It felt so natural to share the calmness of the afterglow together like this and provide each other with tender affection after wildly and passionately acting out their lust.

"Jesus, you're incredible," Wade rasped after he had finally caught his breath. It would take just a few seconds more to heal the inflammation in his throat. In the meantime, he rolled just enough to hold Peter within his arms and tenderly kiss his damp brow. This was where Peter needed to be, happy and contentedly held within Wade's loving embrace. He closed his eyes and reaffirmed for himself the steps that would need to be taken to ensure their future together.

"So are you," Peter chuckled softly. The embrace of Wade's arms felt so loving and secure that it brought a wide smile to the teen's face.

The lay like this for quite a while, just enjoying each other's presence, before the bodiless voice of Jarvis interrupted the moment.

"Sirs, Mr. Stark asked me to inform you that dinner is served. He also told me to instruct you to be fully dressed when you join the others upstairs."

"No can do, Jarv. These special edition Iron-Man nipple clamps can't be contained. Tell Tony that they've got to be exposed for all of the world to see," Wade retorted, groaning as he sat up on the bed.

Peter giggled and sat up as well.

"As you wish, sir," Jarvis responded. "I am certain Mr. Stark will feel flattered."

"You two are horrible," Peter stated as he pulled the shirt he was still wearing over his head. "All of you, actually. Hah, what have I gotten myself into."

"We're the best kind of horrible," the merc commented with a grin. He slid off of the bed and tucked himself back into his lightweight suit bottoms. Picking up Peter's jeans, he threw them across his broad shoulders and studied the teen, arms akimbo. "You know what? I'm gonna hold on to these and you can just Donald Duck it for the rest of the day," he pronounced, licking his lips at the delectable sight of Peter's long, slender legs.

Peter laughed and threw the shirt at Wade. "Are you sure you want everyone to see me like this? And marvel at what is rightfully only yours?"

"Babe, it's your body to do with as you please. I don't own jack shit," Wade stated as he stalked back towards the bed. He predaciously climbed into Peter's lap and straddled his thighs. "I'm just the lucky fucker that you, for some reason, let take you apart," he said, voice husky.

Peter looked up at him, his joking attitude gone now that Wade had turned this into something serious.

"I know," he said lowly. "You know that I know. I had my rules when I was an escort because I was aware that even though I sell my services, my body is still mine alone. But now that I decided to be with you exclusively, no one else will get what I have to offer. You own my gift of having given myself to you."

Overwhelmed, Wade leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to Peter's lips. Love was on his mind, but he viciously strangled the admission from being voiced. It would only scare Peter off.

Peter smiled softly and ran his palms over Wade's thighs. "Come on," he requested. "Let me get dressed so no one else sees what I'm only giving to you, and then go upstairs. I had an amazing appetizer, but I'm still hungry, you know."

"Kay," the merc responded simply as he climbed off and set Peter's pants beside him on the bed. "With great power comes a giant fucking appetite, eh?"

Peter laughed and got up. "I trained hard, scienced hard and fucked hard all day and haven't eaten anything since breakfast. And I'm still a teenager, we're always hungry," he explained.

He grabbed his shorts and socks, but put on fresh jeans and a new shirt because the old ones were still sticky from web fiber parts. The last thing where the shoes, also bought by Tony.

"Alright, I'm ready," Peter then announced and smiled at Wade. "Let's go."

Cocking his head, Wade crossed his muscular arms over his chest and studied Peter up and down. He paced around the teen, ignoring Peter's suspicious glance, and tapped one finger against his chin. "Nah, you're not quite ready yet," he pronounced. Before Peter had a chance to ask for clarification, Wade approached and violently ruffled his hair until it resembled a Pomeranian. "All better!" he crowed as he wheeled towards the doorway and took off sprinting down the hall, laughing.

"Oi!" Peter called after him. "You're gonna pay for this, slow down!" Grinning widely, he dashed outside, chasing Wade towards the elevator. "Hair-police! Stand down!"

"I'm above the law on account of not having any!" Wade hollered back. He jammed his palm against the elevator call button and bounced on his toes in silent prayer for the doors to open quickly, which they did. As soon as his mass could fit, Deadpool threw himself bodily through the gap and repeatedly pressed the door close button with one hand while wrenching his mask on with the other.

"Nice try!" Peter yelled as he shot a webstring through the open door and used it to catapult himself inside of the elevator. He had miscalculated though and smashed against the wall so hard that it knocked the air out of his lungs.

"Ugh," he groaned, peeling himself off the wall. "Fuck, I need to work on my superhero-entry…"

Hissing in surprise, Wade lunged to gather Peter in his arms. "Shit, Baby Boy, are you okay?" he asked, panicked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Peter chuckled, rubbing his hurting cheek. "Sorry, didn't mean to make you worry."

The merc snorted and soothed his thumb over Peter's cheek. "You're the most graceless arachnid I've ever seen."

Peter pouted a little. "I can't even disagree to that," he sighed. "And yet you still are head over heels for me. So joke's on you."

"Head over what now? I never said anything like that," Wade stated deviously.

"No, but you're living it out and showing it every single minute of the day," Peter smirked. "Also this was totally a mean tactic to catch you after what you did to my hair. You totally fell for it."

Never before had a prank taken him so completely unawares. Wade was at a loss. He simply stared at Peter's unabashed self-satisfaction until the elevator doors opened behind him. "You sly, sneaking, son of a…" he began, awestruck.

Peter only laughed, letting Wade believe that he had really smashed himself against the wall on purpose and not because of complete incompetence, and patted his chest. Then he gently freed himself from the merc's arms to flounce out of the elevator and into the kitchen where the Avengers were already gathered around the table. Pizza boxes were stacked upon it and the delicious smell of food hung in the air, making Peter's mouth water.

The Thunder God held up a massive slice of pizza in greeting, then leaned his head close to Steve's to better hear him over the commotion. On the side of the table closest to Peter and Wade, Clint was decked out in his civvies, one arm thrown over his chair in a lazy sprawl and the other gesticulating grandly in front of him.

"So let me get this straight. You're saying that if your alternate-dimension-self showed up, you wouldn't at least cop a feel?" Clint asked suspiciously, sporting an expression of exaggerated disbelief as he stared at Tony.

"Why the hell would I," Tony asked, grabbing a slice of pizza and folding it in the middle. "I can feel up my own ass as often as I want to right here and now."

Peter came over to the table with a smile directed at everyone and climbed on the chair next to Clint again. Natasha, who was sitting between Clint and Tony, cast him a resigned look that said: "Welcome to the freak-show, kid".

"But that's different, man," Barton argued.

Regaining his chair next to Peter, Wade half laid his torso on the table to join the conversation. "Seriously, Tony. What Hawk-guy is talking about here is like a full body The Stranger. Who wouldn't want to get in on that?"

"Well, you two do, obviously," Tony shrugged.

"Oh God, one of each of you is already too much," Natasha commented.

"Thank you," Tony replied. "Truth is I don't like catching and I hate beard burns, so I couldn't really do much for myself anyway. Except for marveling at me from all angles. A threesome, maybe. Hmm… Yes, threesome I would be up for."

"Jesus, you guys just had to go and make it weird," Barton grumped, crossing his arms and shaking his head with an affected grimace. Abandoning the topic, he turned to Peter. "Anyways, how's it going, kid? Did you manage to mop the floor with Wade's face?"

Peter grinned. "We stopped training after you visited us. But Tony and I made these -" He proudly held up his wrist "- so tomorrow Wade is going to say 'hello' to the floor very often. Or the ceiling. Or the wall. Doesn't matter, the point is I'm gonna kick his ass."

"And what exactly are 'these?'" Barton asked, glancing at the technology askance. It was an unwritten rule that unless it was bow shaped, Tony's inventions were to be met with suspicion.

"Webshooters!" Peter exclaimed excitedly. "They can shoot strong, sticky and very flexible fibers, strings or nets! Like a spider! It's awesome! I can swing on them or shoot them at opponents and disable them!"

"Yeah, you should have seen the elevator wall after he was done with it. Watch out, Barton, he's a killing machine," Wade stated idly, then jammed a slice of pizza into his mouth as far as it would go to hide his smirk.

Peter shot him a glare. Then he flicked his wrist and webbed Wade's mouth shut, pizza inside.

"You were saying?" he asked sweetly.

Wade merely shrugged and quietly went about chewing before he asphyxiated. The surrounding chatter died as everyone turned to look at Peter as if he were a godsend.

"It takes about one hour before it dissolves," Peter explained. "One hour of silence from Wade. That alone makes these things worth it. But I can't see him starving while we're all having pizza, so maybe I'll succumb to my soft side and will free him." He tapped his lower lip as if in thought.

"Don't do it, kid," Clint begged. "This is the first time I've been able to hear myself think in well over ten years."

Rolling his eyes, Deadpool pulled out his bowie knife and slit the web open without fanfare. "Oh, I'm sorry, does my witty repertoire throw off your migratory patterns?" he drawled, reaching for another slice of pizza.

Peter sighed. "Next time I'm gonna web his hands together as well," he hummed and finally grabbed some pizza himself.

"Why stop there?" Clint asked with a sigh.

"You mean I should securely tie him to the bed?" Peter asked, shooting Wade a side-glance.

The shrill shriek of Barton's chair made everyone around the table wince. "Nope. So much 'nope.' I've got to go do… something else. See ya'll around," he finished lamely, then turned to go. As he passed by Wade, he quickly signed _So much for the hypothetical clone. You've already got one._ To which the merc laughed and squeezed Peter's thigh affectionately.

Peter smirked in return. It was amazing that he was already comfortable enough around Clint to make filthy jokes. But Barton was a true friend of Wade's, and that meant that he was an awesome person.

The other Avengers hadn't heard Peter's suggestion and were now looking after Clint in bewilderment. After a moment, Tony broke the silence by saying: "Now if my alternate-dimension-self was a _woman_ , though…" which made Natasha groan loudly.

The remainder of dinner was a companionable affair. At one point, Wade had attempted to drag one of the open pizza boxes away from Thor, but the combined strength of Mjolnir and Steve's raised eyebrow made him contritely sink back into his seat, empty handed.

Finally each and every slice of pizza was gone and everyone turned their attention to Tony as he clapped his hands.

"Alright!" the engineer began. "Battle-time! Jarvis, start the Wii! It's time to kick some ass!"

"Oh, Tony," Natasha sighed. "You know you always lose."

" _You_ I will battle first," Tony decided. "And I also need to kick Steve off the Highscore. I mean, how embarrassing is that?"

Steve only grinned. "It would be less embarrassing if you wouldn't always claim I'm too old to play these games," he stated.

His fellow Avenger snorted and got up. "I only wanted to make an old citizen happy. But that senior just got sassy, so I'll show him how it's done. First Nat, then you. It's on, grandpa. And you can not choose a tank in that game."

Thor swept out of the room ahead of them all, just as impressive in his casual 'midgardian wear' as his battle armor, and took up his favored position in the very center of the sofa. "Secure your battlements well, Stark," he said with a wicked grin.

"You will all weep when this is over," Tony announced and flopped down onto the sofa, controller-wheel in hand. "Come on, Nat, you're first. I have so much to pay back to you."

"Sadly you won't, though," the spy claimed as she sat down on the other side of Thor, accepting the wheel Tony was handing over.

"Shouldn't we let the kid play?" Steve asked from where he leaned over the backrest. "People nowadays seem to be so self-centered."

Tony shot him a glare and then looked up at Peter. "You wanna play?" he asked. "In fact, we could all play. I have enough wheels for all of us, we can all battle each other simultaneously. Technically that's impossible, but I have friends at Nintento and I'm the best at hacking whatever can be hacked, so we can enjoy Mario Kart Stark Special. Up to 12 players. It's pretty awesome."

"Uhm," Peter stammered, staring at the wheel. "Sure, why not. As long as I won't be kicked out when I win."

"If Tony would kick everyone out who beats him, he would be alone in this tower by now," Steve assured with a smirk. "Show him how it's done."

"They haven't kicked me out yet, Baby Boy. And I _always_ win," Wade bragged as he dropped to the plush carpet, propping himself on his elbows and stretching his legs out before him, like the poster child of casual repose. Thor nudged the back of his head with his boot. "What Brother Wil fails to mention is that his concept of 'winning' is determined by the amount of foodstuffs he himself falls victim to," Thor stated with a raised eyebrow.

Peter laughed and snatched a wheel for himself before he slumped down next to Wade, cross-legged. "I've played with Wade before, I know his technique," he stated. And Wade knew his. Damn, the last round of Mario Kart had gotten… pretty hot. Peter tried not to think of that as he handed Wade a wheel as well.

"Stuff it, Viking Fashion Barbie," the merc snarled over his shoulder at Thor. As he turned back to accept the wheel, he let his fingers linger on Peter's. "Fair warning though, Tony, Peter plays dirty," he commented idly.

Peter shivered slightly, glaring at Wade. This was not helping to forget the last time he had played Mario Kart!

"So does Steve," Tony claimed. "Steve, get yourself and Thor a wheel, come on. Or the good characters will already be gone before you can pick."

"Yeah, hurry up, Rogers. Or else someone may steal our wittle Thunder God's Hammer Bro before you can say 'thematic trope' three times fast," Wade simpered as he hurriedly selected Princess Peach. The irony was not lost on him. Thor chose that moment to kick Wade lightly in the back of the head, brushing it off as an accident.

While Steve sighed and retrieved some more wheels, Tony picked his beloved King Boo and Peter made sure to get Yoshi. Nat picked Dry Browser, just because. When Steve was done choosing Luigi and Thor had settled with Toad, Tony started a VS Race.

"Alright, this is all fun and games, until someone cries," Stark made clear. "The first one to blueshell me will sleep outside."

"You picked that little cock head on purpose!" Wade roared in disbelief at the Thunder God. Lips twitching in self-satisfaction, Thor leaned back against the sofa. "Unlike some, I am not so easily ruled by the prowess of my hammer," he retorted.

"That's it," Wade railed, "you're ALL getting blue shelled, every last one of you. And especially you, Tony."

"For that Tony would have to be first place and he'll never get there," Natasha mused.

"None of you will get breakfast," Tony grumbled. Then the race started and the battle began.

Within the first five seconds, Wade drifted in front of Tony and slammed on his brakes.

"For Christ's sake, Wade, I swear to God!" Iron Man cursed as all the other racers got ahead of him.

"Verily, your prayers fall on my own deaf ears, Stark," Thor snarked, then unleashed a banana peel. Snickering, Wade raced after Tony and managed to cut him off again.

"I will poison your coffee," Tony snarled, trying to sneak his way around Wade.

In the meantime, Nat, Steve, Thor and Peter were already far ahead of the two, battling for first place.

Princess Peach finally trundled along, ignoring Tony in favor of weaving side to side on the track. As the other players approached on their second lap, Wade performed the exact same maneuver on Nat. "Chaotic Neutral strikes again, mother fuckers," he hollered, wiggling his bottom excitedly on the carpet.

Natasha didn't take any shit though and blasted Peach off the road with a red shell. The detonation sent her flying as well, but after she was back on track, she was at least free from Wade.

Peter had taken the opportunity to take the lead, Thor and Steve hot on his heels.

As much as Wade idolized Captain America, he just couldn't stomach the way Steve was starting to overtake his Baby Boy. So, the merc acrobatically rolled back onto his shoulder blades and abruptly tore the remote wheel out of Steve's hands with his feet. The slowly forming expression of affront was so worth it.

"Come on, Wade, that's not fun," Steve scolded.

Peter only grinned as Thor got hit by a green shell, leaving Peter as the only player in the front.

As the teen crossed the finish line, Wade set the remote on his abdomen and laid back to nuzzle the side of his face against Tony's socked feet. "Having some performance issues, Tonykins? Do you need Deadpool to kiss it and make it better?" he teased, making obnoxious kissing noises.

"I need you to kiss the lawn from the underneath," Tony grumbled. "You cheated in Peter's favor. That's unfair."

"Oh, boo fuckin' hoo," the merc retorted, then retrieved his remote and turned deadly serious. In the next round, he summarily kicked everyone's ass.

That didn't really make the others feel any kinder towards him, though.

"I have a suggestion," Tony growled. "Next round is everyone against Wade."

Wade squared his shoulders and aimed a death glare at Stark. "Bring it, Tin Man . Welcome to the fuckin' Thunderdome," he growled, turning back towards the television. Rainbow road appeared in all of its prismatic glory at the same time that Peter's shoe innocently brushed his ankle. This…was going to be a problem.

Peter swallowed hard and grabbed his wheel tighter. Why. Why did it have to be the Rainbow Road. He slightly turned his head towards Wade to see if the merc was thinking the same thing. If he too remembered how Peter had climbed into his lap to distract him and what had happened after that.

If the way Wade was fidgeting as a distractionary technique to scoot closer was any indication, the answer would be a resounding 'yes.' On the screen, the race was about to begin. Their thighs touched just as the start signal blared.

Peter shuddered. He locked his eyes on the screen again and gritted his teeth to concentrate on Yoshi rather than to think of Wade's fingers wrapping around his dick, pumping. How his tongue had played with Peter's earlobe, had licked his neck. Again, Peter had to swallow and he writhed a little.

"Mother fucker," Wade screamed as he miraculously dodged a dropped banana peel. He avoided the offending weapon by turning not only the wheel, but by flinging his body sideways across Peter's lap. With another curse, he righted himself all the while taking the opportunity to ghost his hand up the teen's inner thigh.

Peter gasped lowly and shuddered once more. Damn it. So Wade _was_ thinking the exact same thing. Shit.

He tried his best to keep his mind on the game, to concentrate, to not let Wade or the memory distract him. But it was hard with the merc so close to him, touching him, with knowing that he thought the same thoughts Peter had. He had to clear his throat, but that didn't really help much.

Princess Peach tucked into the side of Yoshi and ran him right off of the track.

"Fuck you," Peter growled and slammed his elbow into Wade's side.

Deadpool groaned, perhaps a bit more throatily than called for, and retaliated by shoving Peter over completely.

In return, Peter brought his leg up and kicked Wade against the shoulder. Yoshi by now was completely lost.

Wade couldn't care less about his minor victory. Grabbing Peter's ankle, he yanked the kid's leg across his lap, making his hip slide along the carpet. Peter wound up half sprawled on the ground, one leg draped over Wade's, and buttocks pressed up against the side of the merc's thigh. Luckily, the game had riveted the attention of all other parties involved.

Heedless of his rank standing, all Wade could think about was how he had folded Peter over the armrest of the penthouse sofa and pounded him into next week.

Peter bit his lower lip and moved his hips down to make his ass rub against Wade's leg. He couldn't take this anymore. The memory of how Wade had sucked and fingered him on the sofa made his cock twitch and heat spread throughout his entire body. He didn't even try to focus on the game anymore, it was in vain anyway. He just wanted someone to win already so he and Wade could retreat to their room and fuck each other's brains out.

Deadpool repositioned his bulky mass slightly to obscure the line of view of the couch's occupants and slid one palm up Peter's inner thigh to gently knead the burgeoning tent in the teen's jeans front.

Peter tried to suppress any sound, but he couldn't help an incredulous gasp leaving his mouth. Wade's hand felt so good and it was so desperately needed. But he was lying here in Tony Stark's penthouse, in front of the sofa with almost all the Avengers on it, and Wade was obviously touching him sexually! The thought of what any of their potential spectators would say or do if they noticed that was making Peter writhe. To his own shocked surprise he had to admit though that it wasn't only because he was uneasy, but mostly because the danger of being caught turned him on. Fucking shit! Couldn't someone win this damn race already!

Princess Peach had fallen so far behind that the others swarmed around her on their second lap. Wade steered quickly into the side of Steve's kart and launched a blue turtle shell at Tony's all with one hand. His other managed to snake beneath the waistband of Peter's jeans and reposition his rapidly swelling erection so that it laid flush against Peter's stomach, pinned beneath the elastic of his boxers. The result of their stewing attraction was much less conspicuous that way.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut and dug his teeth into his own lip. He didn't even know what Yoshi was doing on the screen anymore. Probably falling off the rainbow constantly. But Peter really couldn't be bothered about that right now. He had to do his best to not let a moan slip past his lips.

With one gloved hand, Wade gathered the glistening drops of precome from Peter's slit and swirled them around his flushed glans.

Peter's stomach contracted and he curled in a little, pressing his leg down hard on Wade's lap. He wanted him to stop because he couldn't contain his growing arousal anymore, but at the same time it felt so good. But no. When the race ended, the others wouldn't be distracted anymore and then they maybe would notice. He didn't want that. Therefore he tried to shove Wade's arm away with his knee, masking it as an attempt to handicap the merc.

The merc allowed his arm to slip away. Moving slowly, to let Peter know exactly what was about to happen, he eased his mask up and pointedly licked the bitter tang from his thumb.

Eyes glassy with lust, Peter glared at Wade. He was so going to regret this later.

"HAH!" Tony crowed from behind them. "Told you I would kick all of your asses! Who's the best! Hint: It's me!"

"Oh, thank Jesus, fuck," Wade groaned as he swiftly tossed his remote behind him and leapt to his feet. His updated costume was doing him no favors in the hide-the-willy department, so he casually swept Peter up over his shoulder and took off towards the elevator, sure to keep his hips facing away from the sofa. The kid tried to mumble an explanation and an apology towards the Avengers, but luckily for everyone it wasn't understandable. Natasha watched the odd tableau knowingly.

Plucking the thrown remote out of the air, Steve turned to Tony, perplexed. "What just happened here?"

"Someone couldn't take having lost, I guess," Tony shrugged. Natasha only smirked widely, but didn't say anything to that.

As soon as the elevator doors slid shut, Wade jolted Peter off of his shoulder and slammed his back into the dented elevator wall instead. The merc's mask was off and his mouth firmly sucking angry welts into Peter's neck in two seconds flat.

Finally Peter was able to moan his pleasure out and he made good use of that. His body arched against Wade and he willingly threw his head back and to the side to offer his neck to Wade's mouth.

"You're such an asshole," he panted, digging his fingers into Wade's shoulder.

"And you fuckin' love it," the merc growled back, words muffled by Peter's skin. There was no space between their bodies as they near violently undulated against each other in the hope that the friction alone could say everything that words couldn't.

It felt like an eternity until the doors of the elevator finally opened and they could stumble outside. They shared heated kisses and began to fumble with each other's clothes on the way to their room, so that as soon as the door closed behind them, Peter was already out of his shirt and had his fly open.

Wade nearly fell in his haste to help divest Peter of his jeans, but managed to catch himself by bracing one arm against the doorframe while still sucking nomadic marks into the teen's skin. "I need to be in you, right goddamn now," he managed to gasp, voice rough with arousal.

Peter gasped loudly and basically threw his lower body against Wade. "Fuck, yes, you need to be… You so need to be," he muttered. "I want you to fuck me so hard I see stars, Wade…"

"Shiiiit…" Deadpool's belt and holsters couldn't come off fast enough. Though, as his personal effects fell to the floor in a haphazard pile, he still managed to snag one of his never ending supply of lube vials from a pocket. Separating only long enough to literally tear Peter's boxers from his body, Wade crowded the teen against the wall. There was no way in hell they were going to make it to the bed.

Gasping once again from Wade ripping his boxers off, Peter slung one leg around the merc and slid down on the wall a bit to offer his ass. "I should wear anal plugs all day," he stated in a hoarse whisper.

"Best idea I've ever heard," Wade stated unintelligibly as his licked a line from the divot of Peter's collar bone all the way up his throat. Satisfied with the taste of Peter heavy on his tongue, the merc pulled back just enough to bend down and scoop his forearms beneath Peter's knees and lift. His arms reached around Peter's slender frame to support his back while at the same time folding him double against Wade's broad chest. The merc readjusted Peter's legs so that the teen's calves pressed against his shoulders.

Peter grunted and pressed his fingertips against the wall to support himself. "Didn't bring them with me. You'll have to go out and buy me one," he informed Wade. Tony would probably order some for them without making a fuss, but there were things Peter didn't want Stark involved with.

"Don't give a fuck right now. Hands on my shoulders," Wade commanded simply. The position they were in spread Peter's buttocks wide effortlessly, and allowed Wade to instinctively drive his clothed cock to slide along the cleft. The friction was maddening. Bless the kid's flexibility.

Peter obeyed right away and held onto Wade's shoulders tightly. The touch of Wade's dick against his ass was making him shiver and writhe a little in anticipation.

The retort of the lube cap clicking open was drowned out by the merc's heavy panting. This was nearly too much, having Peter folded against him like a fucking gymnast, his slender limbs belying the sheer strength within him. Peter could so easily dominate Wade, but instead gifted him with the miracle of his tender capitulation. Wade simply couldn't understand it.

He held up his gloved fingers in front of Peter's mouth. "Bite."

The teen's mouth was opened to draw shaky breaths already anyway, but now he used it to capture the fabric of Wade's glove with his teeth. Then he pulled his head back as far as he could to help Wade getting rid of the garment.

Once freed, Wade juggled Peter's weight and managed to lube up his fingers and insistently press against Peter's tight anus. Wade was too far gone to be completely gentle. He wanted Peter to feel the ache of being taken, to crumble beneath the burn of his girth until the kid's body couldn't help but remember the shape of him for days after.

There would be time for tender lovemaking later, when raw need wasn't quite so insistent of a bedfellow. This was about claim.

Good thing Peter loved rough sex and couldn't wait to be claimed by Wade.

He moaned at the intrusion and tried to push his hips down to immediately take Wade's fingers in further. The slight pain shot up his spine like a lightning bolt and brought gooseflesh up on his entire body.

"Shit, like that," he breathed out. "Use me, Wade."

The rosy blush on Peter's cheeks and his fluttering, half lidded eyes were all the encouragement that Wade needed. Still slightly loose from their prior activities in the shower, Peter's body accepted the thick digit easily, and then another with slightly more resistance. "Baby Boy, I'm not going to use you. I'm going to fucking _wreck_ you," the merc snarled before swallowing the teen's cry in a brutal kiss.

Peter moaned helplessly into Wade's mouth and grabbed the back of his head to keep him from breaking the kiss. He didn't return it in all its brutality and rather let Wade abuse his mouth willingly. Being trapped by the merc's strong, muscular body and the wall, penetrated by both his tongue and his fingers and used from both ends, was so arousing that it made Peter shudder repeatedly and brought tears to his eyes.

Instead of pulling his pants down, Wade tore the front open and let the flaps hang around his thighs. The nanobots would repair it once the borders aligned anyways. Right now the merc didn't have the patience or dexterity to fiddle with hidden fasteners. Finally freed, his angry, swollen erection forcibly slapped against Peter's buttocks.

The former escort became dizzy from lust and the lack of oxygen because Wade's searing kiss wouldn't allow him to breathe properly. He was already a sweaty, panting mess and Wade hadn't even started yet. He would probably come the instant Wade moved his cock inside of him.

Deadpool rutted against his own hand as he sunk in a third finger, relishing the vibrations of Peter's pleasure against his mercilessly questing tongue. The very instant that the vice of Peter's entrance relaxed around his fingers, Wade slipped them out with a lurid pop, then lined up his erection. With one powerful thrust, he sheathed his dick halfway.

Peter screamed into Wade's mouth, clawing at his shoulders. The thick cock being shoved into him harshly burned , but that only aroused Peter more. He wanted Deadpool to destroy the wall by fucking Peter into it too hard. Sadly he couldn't tell him that, as he was completely unable to speak.

The merc pulled back until the flare of his glans tugged, then thrust in while simultaneously pressing on Peter's lower back to make it arch. Once fully seated within Peter's body, Wade groaned like a dying man. Excess lube squelched around his girth and dripped down to stain his pants. He stopped for a brief moment to allow Peter time to adjust, shoulders coiled tightly and cock twitching in anticipation.

Peter had to pull his head back and lean it against the wall to draw some deep breaths, mouth wide open. This was already far too much. He trembled, his body close to bursting from the sensation and anticipation at the same time. His own erection ached between their bodies, hot and hard and ready to let the fire burning in Peter's abdomen break free. He wouldn't last long like this.

Wade leaned back slightly to counterbalance and stepped away from the wall until his muscular arms were the only thing supporting the teen's weight. Shifting slightly, he threaded his fingers together near the base of Peter's spine and began to piston his hips, slow at first, then in a punishing rhythm that allowed no time for respite from the overwhelming sensation of it all. "So fucking tight. So fucking mine," Wade proclaimed in a deadly voice, the likes of which Peter had never heard before.

The teen moaned and sobbed with each hard thrust, loud and hoarse and completely lost in a burning haze of too much lust. It only took a few seconds before he screamed violently and came, shooting white ribbons of come between their bodies, his walls clenching hard around Wade's erection ramming into them.

Wade groaned his approval, but his thrusting hips didn't abate.

As he continued to rock, Peter's calves slipped from his shoulders until the backs of his knees hooked around the merc's bent elbows. Without warning, he dropped to his knees, heedless of the pain, and pressed Peter's back to the carpet. He clenched his teeth and hissed through them at the rising force of impending orgasm. The first pulse of come shot deeply within the teen, followed by several more powerful twitches of his dick.

Peter moaned and writhed helplessly, his body oversensitive from his own orgasm. It was too much to take and yet he didn't want it to stop. He wanted Wade to keep going and both of them to come again right here and now. Rocking his hips and clawing at Wade's upper arms, he tried to somehow communicate that without talking, as he was still in no condition to speak.

It was a moot point though. Wade had absolutely no intention of stopping until Peter insisted. His healing factor forced blood into his cock with renewed force and eased the muscle fatigue in his lower back. As he mercilessly drove Peter into the carpet, he was glad to feel the teen's renewed interest as well.

Peter dropped back completely with a breathless moan and just gave himself over to the feeling of Wade's shaft moving in and out of him harshly. His own healing factor kicked in, though a bit slower than Wade's, but it managed to keep him going instead of turning into a boneless mess of overfucked human being. The wet slaps and their loud, uneven breathing mixed with groans and grunting prickled underneath Peter's sweat-slick skin and was underlaid by his own frantic heartbeat. Slowly regaining a bit of strength, Peter opened his eyes a little to look up at Wade through his lashes.

Wade was staring at his face intently, memorizing each and every little expression of pain and pleasure. "Oh yeah, Baby Boy. Take it. Take it all," Wade moaned, eyes half-lidded. It took very little time for him to come a second time, watching Peter's lips part in a delicate O.

The teen lay his head back again as he felt hot come filling him up and arched off the floor. His own member had already grown hard again and was standing flush and erect, aching for some attention. It moved up and down as Peter rolled his hips to fully savour Wade's orgasm before he stilled them again, ready for Wade to go on.

The sight of Peter's rampant enthusiasm was too much.

Cock fully erect yet again after only a brief lull, Wade sat up with his legs folded beneath him, and continued to plunge into the ridiculously tight heat of his lover's grasping body. He was lightheaded and nearly insensate from the thought that Peter was his. That this intelligent, talented, sexy little arachnid was _his._ Wade grasped Peter's hip with one hand, tight enough to bruise, and went about roughly jerking him off with the other.

Peter screamed again, his body jumping from the sudden friction on his erection, and curled in a little because his stomach contracted. His hand closed around the wrist at his hip like a vice while his other clawed at the carpet. He stared up at Wade with wide eyes and an open mouth through which each exhale turned into a shaky moan. Orgasm was already building up in his lower regions, rapidly. Wade would make him come again shortly if he kept going like this.

The telltale flicker of Peter's lashes hastened Wade's timetable. For a third time, his body locked up under the force of his release as he allowed himself to spill into the teen. Before his dick was even completely spent, he wrapped his hand firmly around the base of Peter's cock to stave off his lover's impending orgasm. "Not yet, babe," he pleaded.

Peter gave a disappointed and indignant groan and writhed heavily, begging with his body to please be allowed relief. He couldn't take it anymore. He _needed_ to come! Wade had already come three times and Peter was denied even his second orgasm. That was unfair!

Wade ran a soothing palm along Peter's flank.

He pulled out, his cockhead slipping free accompanied by a deluge of come. Then he leaned over Peter's pelvis and took him deeply into his throat without fanfare. There was no finesse, no poem-worthy skill involved, just the need to be claimed in turn.

With a loud, deep moan, Peter bucked his hips up a few times and came, his throbbing erection deeply embedded in Wade's hot throat. Each wave of release made the teen's hips jerk until he was finally spent completely, gasping for breath.

Foregoing the bed, Deadpool collapsed next to him and tried to catch his breath. Peter's come lingered thickly in his throat in the best of ways.

They laid that way for several long minutes, trying to ease their racing hearts.

"Mmm, love you," Wade murmured, turning his head to press a kiss to Peter's hip once he could breathe normally. After the words slipped out, he froze. "Oh shit. Shit, fuck! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to say that. Well, I say it in my head. I say it in my head a lot. But I didn't mean to say it with actual words. Fuuuuuuck, please don't leave," he babbled against Peter's skin in sudden panic, screwing his eyes shut and saying the last three words in a near whisper.

Actually, Peter was too exhausted to respond properly. But the panic in Wade's words was alarming and Peter knew that he had to react to this, or Wade would probably die of a few heart-attacks in a row.

Somehow gathering his last bit of strength, Peter scooted down until he could wrap his arms around Wade's head and let the other man bury his face against Peter's chest. He stroked Wade soothingly, placing his leg over Deadpool's side to be even closer to him.

"You idiot, even a blind man sees that you love me," he mumbled hoarsely, squeezing Wade softly. "Why would I leave just because you say it out loud."

He wasn't entirely as calm as he claimed to be, though. Not because of what Wade had said, he really had known that already. But his own feelings still were unclear to him and trying to figure them out made him very uneasy. Was it love? Trust? A deep friendship? Dependence? Peter couldn't say, and he also didn't want to pin it down just yet. He knew Wade wasn't expecting him to, but he himself felt bad because Wade so openly and genuinely loved him, and Peter didn't even know what he felt. It was unfair and Wade deserved better.

"I won't leave," he promised lowly, the only thing he could say for sure. "Don't you worry. I will stay with you."

"Yeah, okay. Sorry. Didn't mean to ruin the mood. You felt really, really good," Wade responded meekly against his chest. The merc was still shaken by what he perceived to be a near miss in screwing up their tentative relationship.

"Hey, it's okay," Peter assured. "I randomly started crying once after sex, I think that ruined the mood way more than 'I love you.'"

He kept on stroking the back of Wade's head tenderly, trying to calm himself down with the rhythmic motion as well. Good thing he could blame his racing heart on the sex-marathon.

Wade snuggled even closer. "That wasn't bad. A little waterworks is nothing. When I gave my first blow job I thought you actually had to blow like you were filling up a balloon. Kid balled and didn't walk straight for weeks," he admitted with a growing grin.

Peter had to laugh. "Oh my God, you didn't! How old were you? Didn't you learn anything from the internet, man?"

"Please, the internet then wasn't like the fuckfest and cat meme extravaganza it is now. If people were smart, they'd just call it a 'suckjob,' and get rid of the ambiguity altogether," Wade stated, calming now that they were falling back into the comfortable territory of nonsensical banter.

"Oooh, I forgot you're ancient," Peter apologized. "It's a miracle blowjobs were even already a thing back then."

"Blowjobs have been a thing since we evolved mouths and dicks," the merc laughed, pointedly ignoring the age comment.

Peter chuckled lowly. Then he turned a bit more serious. "How was your first time with a guy?" he asked curiously. "If you want to tell me, that is."

With a huff of laughter, Wade shifted on the plush carpet and laid an arm across Peter's stomach. "Eh, nothing to write home about. Just a couple of drunk teens not knowing what the fuck they were doing and thinking spit was lube enough. I was the one hobbling after that one," he reminisced with a roll of his eyes.

Peter inhaled sharply through his teeth. "Oooouch. Ou. Not fun. My deepest sympathy," he commented.

Sighing as his shoulders finally loosened, Wade playfully nipped at Peter's nipple. "And exactly how deep can your sympathy go, huh?"

The teen jumped a little from the bite and then giggled, softly hitting Wade's arm. "Depends on what I use for lube," he quipped, grinning.

Wade smiled and soothed the bite with his tongue. "Have you ever pitched, Petey-pie?" he asked softly.

"Mh mh," Peter answered with a shaking of his head. "Look at me. People hired me for my ass or my mouth, not my dick."

Wade pulled himself up so that he laid half on top of Peter and his massive biceps bracketed the teen's head. He met Peter's gaze, dropping all traces of teasing lilt from his voice. "Ever wanted to?"

Peter looked up at Wade and swallowed. Then he shrugged a little. "I don't know," he mumbled. "I never cared about it. I'm good at being at the bottom, you know. But if you want me to top you, we can try it."

"No pressure. I want whatever makes you happy," Wade stated plainly, then leaned in for a tender kiss.

Peter hummed and placed his hand on Wade's cheek. "Okay," he said lowly. "And I want whatever makes _you_ happy. So there."

"But what makes you happy makes me happy," Deadpool crooned obnoxiously.

Chuckling, Peter shook his head. "Yeah, and what makes you happy makes me happy. So one of us has to start. And I think that someone should more often be you."

"No," Wade said, then flopped his full body weight down on top of Peter.

"Oof," Peter grunted. "You're an ass."

"Mmm... but a nicely toned one," the merc sing-songed as he wiggled.

The former escort giggled and gave Wade's butt a firm smack. "Off of me," he ordered. "I need a super quick shower before we go to bed. This carpet is really nice, but I don't want to sleep on it all night."

"No can do," Wade responded once more. "I'm being sucked in by your gravitational pull." He yawned and settled more snugly against Peter's body.

"You can be sucked in later, when we're comfortable on the bed," Peter told him. "I hope the mattress has been replaced by now after you stabbed it."

Peter's statement was met with the quiet sound of snoring.

"Wade," Peter tried it. "Wade, get up."

The snoring gained in volume.

"Ugh, are you fucking serious. You're kidding me, I know it," Peter groaned. He raised his hands and flicked his wrists, shooting two webstrings to the ceiling. With one hard pull, he catapulted himself to his feet, despite the heavy man lying on his body.

Wade tumbled to the ground in a heap, ass in the air. "Party foul, Baby Boy! Fuckin' party foul," he railed as he clumsily fell over sideways.

"I don't only play dirty in Mario Kart," Peter shrugged and strode over to the bathroom. There he took off the webshooters - though they had made sure to make them waterproof - and walked into the shower for the second time that day.

Sporting a fond smile, Wade peeled off his suit and tossed it on the floor. The mattress was soft and inviting. This was certainly a far cry from nights spent cutting down marks and shuffling from rat holes to hovels for lack of anything better to do.

Wade laid on his back and stared up at the ceiling. For a very long time he had struggled with the deep-seated belief that he was damaged, unlovable. Who could have imagined that hiring a teenaged callboy on a whim would lead to this level of healing? For the first time since Weapon X, and possibly even before, he was well and truly happy.

The shower could be heard from the bathroom. After a while the water stopped, but it took Peter a bit longer to come back into the bedroom. His hair was still damp and ruffled all over. He climbed into bed, flopping down next to Wade, and snuggled against his lover.

"There," he yawned, patting Wade's chest. "Now you can do whatever you want on top of me."

Wade kissed his forehead and sleepily turned so that he could be the little spoon, mumbling something incoherent.

Peter smiled and wrapped his arms around the merc, pulling him against his own body. "Goodnight, Princess Peach," he whispered, kissing Wade's neck. "Jarvis, lights off."

The room went dark. Peter closed his eyes, still smiling slightly, and fell asleep, snuggled against Wade's back.

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

Peter hadn't moved much in his sleep, so Wade woke up to the kid's morning wood pressing against his buttocks.

Being anchored by the weight of his lover's arm around his waist was sublime to say the least. Wade pressed back slightly into the warmth of Peter's body and couldn't help but smile as soft puffs of breath tickled the back of his neck. This was heaven.

He tried to stay still so as not to break the quiet peace of the morning, but couldn't resist instinctively grinding against the hard shaft that laid snugly between the cleft of his buttocks.

Peter grunted lowly behind him. "Are you trying to massage the stiffness out with your asscheeks?" he joked sleepily and kissed Wade's neck.

"Why would I want to do a thing like that?" Wade asked with a teasing lilt. He snuggled even closer and sighed in contentment.

"I don't know," Peter hummed. "Last night it sounded like you would enjoy that."

Wade's heart nearly seized. "Well yeah, but technically I would need to massage the stiffness _in_ ," he stated hesitantly, testing the waters.

"Inside your butt, you mean?" Peter asked, pressing another soft kiss to Wade's shoulder.

"Jesus, fuck. We need to work on your smooth talk, kid," the merc teased. "But yeah. In my butt." He meant to repeat Peter's words in a joking manner, but he couldn't help the breathy way it came out, nor the way his lower back arched at the thought.

Both of those things didn't go unnoticed by Peter. He had to grin a little as he pushed his hips forward to meet Wade's body.

"You mean you want me to lube up and work you open and then press my dick into your needy ass?" he continued.

The moan that Peter's question elicited was reminiscent of a funeral dirge. "Please," Wade pleaded, unabashedly grinding back into him. The delicious drag of Peter's solid shaft against his skin was maddening.

Peter chuckled and bit his lower lip, grinning. "Then hand me the lube, dear," he whispered before he softly nipped at Wade's earlobe.

"Wait, you're serious?" Wade asked, turning just enough to see Peter's face out of his periphery.

Turned a bit insecure by Wade's question, Peter cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah?" he replied. "I uh… I mean, you said you would like that and I don't see why I shouldn't give it a try and- … So… yes?"

Wade turned in his arms and took Peter's face between his hands to pepper kisses all over the teen's face. Each press of his lips was preceded by a whispered "thank you."

Peter squinted his eyes and giggled. "It's okay," he assured. "It's okay, it's okay. I just can't promise it'll be good, so don't expect too much."

"Are you kidding? I still can't believe you can touch me without hurling. This is like… it's like what would happen if you mixed Christmas and Hanukkah together and instead of getting eight shitty hand-knit sweaters your parents had to take out a second, third, and fourth mortgage just to cover the sheer amount of fucking awesome," Wade explained excitedly.

Peter laughed. "I'm being serious," he made clear. "I've never done this and I have no idea how to do it well, so this will probably be the worst sex you ever had."

The insecurity and concern in his voice was heartrending. "Nah, doesn't matter. It's going to be like Hannukistmas because it's with you," Wade replied gently, then leaned in for a deep, leisurely kiss.

The teen gave a low sound, trying to protest a little more, but Wade didn't let him. So he gave up and instead just kissed his partner back.

They laid in the comfortable silence, exchanging indulgent kisses and stroking every stretch of skin that they could reach for several long minutes. Only when every bit of Peter's tension had been soothed, did Wade reach back towards the side table and retrieve the bottle of lubricant. As soon as he handed it to Peter, he resumed his position as the little spoon and tangled their legs. "You can say 'no' at any time, babe, and we'll stop no questions asked," Wade stated as he settled.

"Mmhokay," Peter muttered. "But if I do anything that you don't like, please tell me as well, alright? And tell me if I should do anything differently."

"You got it. The safe word is 'Mark Forty-Five,'" the merc responded, grinning slyly into the pillow case.

Peter laughed. "Alright, okay. Got it."

He took a deep breath and then popped the cap of the lube bottle open. At least he knew how to lube fingers and work someone open. Well, how to work himself open. But he assumed it wouldn't be too different with Wade. So he generously coated his fingers and then took another deep breath before he carefully circled his finger around Wade's entrance to slick it. Then he gently pushed his finger inside until it couldn't go any further.

Wade arched into the touch and jerked his hips as his lips parted in a silent O. It had been so unbelievably long since anyone had penetrated his touch-starved body so intimately. His walls clenched tightly around the intrusion.

"Sssh," Peter whispered and kissed Wade's neck. "Relax, babe."

He slowly moved his finger back and forth a bit, but not too much. He didn't want to hurt Wade, after all.

The sweet glide of even that single digit was enough to make Wade's toes curl. "Please. Oh, fuck. Give me more," he moaned as he reveled in the drag of Peter's knuckle.

Peter smiled and moved his finger faster, pulling out further and pushing in harder. "Like that?" he wanted to know, teasing a little.

The merc bit his lip and nodded rapidly. "M-more fingers," he begged.

Smirking slightly, Peter slowly shoved a second finger into Wade's anus. He moved both of the digits together now, slowly at first, then faster and a little harder.

Wade thrust his hips in a steady counter rhythm to gain the most impact. Gasping, he clutched the sheets tightly with one hand and quickly applied pressure to the base of his cock with the other. "Oh, this is going to be embarrassing," he hissed, wincing.

"Nothing is going to be embarrassing, babe," Peter promised. "Just let yourself go. That's what you tell me all the time, too."

"Well yeah, but I'm a fuckin' hypocrite," Wade managed to choke out as the insistent press of orgasm finally eased back.

"You're not. Just enjoy it," Peter said. He carefully tried to move a third finger inside without hurting Wade.

The nearly forgotten ache of being stretched by something other than his own hasty fingers was mind-blowing for Wade. Peter was so careful with him. It was almost amusing that pleasure was able to overwhelm him more wholly than any flesh wound.

He enthusiastically rode Peter's fingers and released the sheets in favor of clinging to the teen's hip instead.

"Petey, God, please fuck me," he mumbled as he buried his face in the pillow.

"You're not worked open enough yet," Peter pointed out. "It would hurt you."

"I don't care. I want to feel you for days, Baby Boy. I want you to sink every last inch of that beautiful dick so deep in my ass that when you come it blows out of my damn mouth like I'm a fountain-head," Wade argued, voice thick with need. "Please, I know what I can take. Give it to me."

Peter laughed and pulled his fingers out of Wade. "I don't want to picture that," he chuckled. He grabbed the bottle of lube once more and poured some of the thick liquid into his hand to coat his cock with it. "Are you sure you can take it?"

The merc squeezed Peter's hip in confirmation. "I've never been so sure of anything in my life."

"Okay…" Peter mumbled. He wasn't so certain if he could take it himself already. He knew he couldn't disappoint Wade, no matter what he did, but that was exactly why he wanted to do it well. Wade deserved that. He didn't want to screw this up.

Taking a deep breath, he took his own cock in hand and lined it up with Wade's entrance. "Ready or not, here I come," he joked lowly, regretting it immediately after.

Suddenly snorting in amusement, Wade tried to control himself and failed miserably. His body shook with the force of his laughter until tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. "That was the worst…" he began, then collapsed into a fit of giggles.

"Sorry," Peter grunted. God, why was he such an horrible idiot? Why had he _said_ that? He had ruined the entire mood. Great start, Parker. Great start.

Still chuckling, Wade rotated his torso and pulled Peter down into a warm kiss. "And here I thought I couldn't like you any more than I already do. You are the world's most adorable dork," he said in wonder, eyes half-lidded. "Now stop making me laugh and plug me up with that giant, dorky cocksicle."

"Yeah, okay," Peter replied, relieved that Wade had stopped laughing. He was still super embarrassed, though. "Then turn back around."

Wade hummed in agreement and did as instructed. "Thanks for the laugh. I don't think I could be more relaxed right now even if I tried," he stated as he pressed back into Peter's warmth. He arched his back and spread himself as much as possible in side-lying.

Peter only grunted lowly, still embarrassed by himself. The laughter only fueled his insecurity and he had to swallow hard and take a few deep breaths before he was ready to go on. He aligned his erection with Wade's entrance once more, not saying anything this time, and then slowly and carefully pushed inside.

The blunt intrusion made the merc's breath hitch. He was used to pain; agony was a steady buzz in the back of his head even on the best of days. But there was something about the ache of being stretched that pierced right to his core. The pleasure of it couldn't be denied. Only when he finally sucked in another breath did he realize that the needy whine in the background had been coming from himself.

Peter had to actually squeeze his eyes shut and grit his teeth. The feeling of Wade's tight walls pressing down on his shaft from all sides, of being buried in this slick heat, felt too amazing. The arm that had rested underneath Wade the entire time came up to hold onto Wade's chest while Peter's second arm now found its way over Wade's side.

Once he was fully seated, Peter held still, allowing Wade to adjust. He also used the time to calm himself down a little, trying to even his shaky, shallow breathing.

For once, Deadpool was speechless.

His mind was completely blank as he stared, unseeing, at where he had accidentally torn the sheets in his grip. Peter was in him. Peter was balls deep in him. Holy. Fuck.

Cock pulsing sympathetically, the merc managed to focus on the firm arms holding him tight in order to ground himself back in reality.

"Baby, please move," he managed to squeak desperately.

Peter gasped lowly, trying to pull himself together as well, and nodded slightly, even though Wade couldn't see it. "Okay," he breathed out. He tightened his grip around Wade's body to get a better hold and took another deep breath. Then he began to rock his hips against Wade in a slow, shallow rhythm.

Overcome with emotion, the merc pulled the pillow away so that he could bend his neck back and lay the back of his head against his lover's shoulder, cheek to cheek and throat completely exposed. Peter's soft, panting breaths tickled as they flitted over his scars.

Within him, the slick drag burned in the best of ways. The kid's girth was substantial and the position forced his swollen cock to brush teasingly against Wade's prostate with each thrust.

Peter groaned lowly as each thrust drove him in and out of the tight, hot, slick heaven that was Wade's body. Without noticing it, he began to rock his hips faster, the need in his own body rising with each move.

Blinded by passion, Wade barely noticed the way Peter held too tight, fingers clawing against his chest and stomach. His gut clenched from the intoxicating mixture of lust and affection that was so easily forcing him headlong towards orgasm. Groaning, he rocked back to meet each now-powerful thrust and urgently took himself in hand.

The teen moaned hoarsely at the increased intensity Wade's movements caused. Lust flooded his entire body, making his neck prickle and his muscles burn. It felt like his skull was pressing down on his brain and lightning was crackling in his bones. He couldn't help but slam his hips more powerfully against Wade's ass, each thrust bringing about a loud slapping sound. He needed more of this. So much more of this incredible feeling. He wanted his own arousal to devour Wade, wanted his thrusts to catapult the merc into heights that would make him lose all control. He wanted to make him come so hard it hurt.

Wade quickly stroked himself, too far gone to bother with any sort of finesse. He took in great gasping breaths to steady himself, but it was too late. Every muscle in his body locked in a wave flowing from his toes up. Mouth gaping wide in a silent scream, he shot translucent ropes of come across the bedspread and bore down tightly on where Peter was still buried within him.

Peter's scream was not silent at all. It was surprised and incredulous because the sensation of Wade's walls clenching around his cock was simply overwhelming. It sent him over the edge immediately, making his hips jerk uncontrollably and slap against Wade's ass, his whole body convulsing from the heavy orgasm. His come shot deep into Wade's core with each move and Peter could feel it smearing around his own erection where it tried to run out of his lover's body. As his spasms slowly ebbed away, Peter was gasping for breath, his hips still moving in slow but intense rolls that drove his cock deep inside of Wade to ride out the last waves of ecstasy.

"Shit," he whispered breathlessly, finally stilling his hips' movements down to shallow, soft rockings until they halted completely. "I'm sorry… Are you okay?"

Wade shuddered at the sensation of Peter's release trickling down his buttocks and the warm acceptance of his embrace.

"No," he wheezed. "I think you just managed to kill me. Death by orgasm."

"Oh, come on," Peter chuckled. "You've had many many orgasms with me before and none of them ever killed you."

The merc expelled a huff of amusement and took a moment to regain his wind before responding. "But those times didn't involve me being stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey," he explained. Wade left unsaid that, too, this was the first time that he hadn't felt like he was just taking. This time it was undeniable that Peter _wanted_ him in turn.

"Yeah, having someone fuck your ass feels amazing, I know," Peter smirked. The grip of his arms had loosened by now and he let his hand stroke over Wade's stomach gently. He was still fascinated by the feel of Wade's rugged skin.

"Was it good for you, too, Baby Boy?" the merc asked, relaxing into Peter's touch with a sigh.

"Yes, it was," Peter replied. "Felt really good to be inside of you and make you lose it."

Wade hummed in agreement and stroked his palms over Peter's arms. The teen's cock still lingered in him, going flaccid, but a comfortable reminder nonetheless. Mind still hazy in the afterglow, he closed his eyes and began to waver at the edges of sleep.

After a moment Peter gently pulled out to snuggle more comfortably against Wade's back. He had no idea what the time was, if they should get up for breakfast, or could snooze a little longer, but he just relied on Jarvis telling them when it would be time to get up.

Now that the act was over, Peter felt really calm and easy. He hadn't fucked up, Wade was happy, he had enjoyed it himself, and all was well. Right now, at this very moment, he was content with his life.

But, just as the pair began to settle into the quiet simplicity of their newfound relationship, Jarvis' ill-timed voice filled the room. "Good morning, sirs. Mr. Stark has requested that you join him this morning for breakfast," the AI stated casually.

"Jarvis, don't do this to me," Wade hissed in return, dragging a pillow over and violently burying his face into it.

"I am afraid I cannot help it, Mr. Flow," Jarvis replied. "You will have to air your grievances with Mr. Stark in person."

Growling, Wade burrowed deeper into Peter's arms. "Jarvis… I'm going to find an Infinity Stone, pull the artificial intelligence right the fuck out of it, make an evil, super sexy robot overlord, download you into a synthetic body, jerk off while you two commiserate over your daddy issues, and then… I'm going to kick your fucking ass," he snarled, still refusing to open his eyes.

"I am looking forward to returning the favor," Jarvis retorted.

"Oh my God, you two are like actual kindergarteners," Peter groaned behind Wade.

"He started it," the merc stated petulantly.

"And I am going to end it," Peter threatened.

Wade squirmed. "With more sex?" he asked hopefully.

"No, with dragging you upstairs for breakfast," the teen explained. "If you're good, you will get more sex afterwards."

Groaning, Wade tangled their legs even more and held on tightly to Peter's wrists. "You'll never take me alive," he announced.

"Don't tempt me," Peter warned. "I could just roll us out of bed. You know I'm stronger than you are."

"Stronger maybe, but you don't play dirty enough to compete with me, Spider-babe," the mercenary quipped, then ground his buttocks back on Peter's dick.

The teen jumped slightly and growled. "I repeat: Don't tempt me. Or you'll regret it."

The merc chuckled and pulled Peter's hand up to rest on his throat, then ducked his chin and sucked the teen's thumb into his mouth. Moaning lewdly, he suckled and tongued the digit, all the while rolling his hips.

"You fucking bastard," Peter snarled. "Don't have me break all your limbs, Deadpool."

The threat brought forth a particularly porn-inspired whimper.

With a groan, Peter pulled his arms away and kicked Wade out of bed with his knee. He was not really annoyed, but simply playing along with Wade's attempts of fucking with him. Both literally and metaphorically, that was.

They worked so well together, Wade thought as he used the momentum to roll off of the edge of the mattress and onto his feet. It was genuinely amazing to him that two such broken men could come together in such a short amount of time and craft something so oddly _functional_. Before he could consider it any further, a warm trickle of fluid began to meander down his thighs. Wade watched its progress with a bemused "huh."

"'Huh' what?" Peter asked. He had sat up and scooted out of bed, his back turned towards Wade.

"Nothin'," the merc responded. The warm contentment that filled his heart at the sight of Peter's come sluicing out of him was just unexpected.

"You sure?" Peter went over to the bathroom to quickly wash his cock and his hands before he came back with his webshooters on his wrists.

"Yeah. Just thinkin' about how you're the greatest thing since sliced bread." Wade strode over and kissed the top of his head before flouncing off into the bathroom with a beautifully executed pirouette.

Laughing, Peter shook his head and grabbed some fresh clothes to put on. Then he sat on the edge of the bed to wait for Wade to finish.

Once dressed, Wade settled his elbows on the doorframe and arched his body in a sinuous curve that he knew made his abdominals flex enticingly and his lats flare out like the head of a cobra. "So, are you still sure about leaving the bed this morning?" he asked with affected innocence.

Peter tried to look at him as unimpressed as possible, even though the sight of Wade's muscles sent a lightning bolt straight down to his crotch.

"We're already dressed and Tony is waiting for us," he explained. "So yes, we're going upstairs now."

Wade grunted noncommittally. "Yeah, I guess you got training and stuff to do." He glanced down at his boots to hide the mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Exactly," Peter confirmed. "Which you yourself initiated, by the way, so don't act all pouty now. We can hit the bed right after dinner and stay in it until the next morning. And can tell Tony to not disturb us tomorrow."

"Unless, of course, hitting the bed _is_ part of your training. Then we wouldn't have to wait," Deadpool concluded slowly, meeting Peter's eyes once more with a dangerous, lop-sided smile. Without warning, he sprinted across the room and lowered his shoulder to tackle Peter's midsection.

Peter's sense warned him, but Wade was so fast that Peter merely managed to bring his knees up and outstretch his arms to keep Wade as far away as possible. "Heeeeelp!" he called. "I'm being assaulted!"

The mercenary's momentum rocked Peter onto his back such that Wade's stomach and pelvis rested on the teen's lower legs. "Airplane!" he screamed excitedly, extending his arms and legs while making vrooming noises.

Peter had to laugh, whether he wanted to or not. This man was such a gigantic, lovable idiot. How could so much dorkiness fit into only one person?

"Jesus, you're the worst!" he exclaimed, still chuckling. "You wanna be the airplane on my feet?"

"As long as you're… the wind beneath my wiiiiiings!" Wade sang loudly before collapsing on Peter's legs, toppling to the bed, and devolving into laughter.

Grinning, Peter shook his head once more. "How old were you again? 4?" he asked, reaching down to pat Wade's head.

"Dunno. I stopped counting when I got turned into the Playgirl centerfold that you see before you. Despite this Forever 21 body, I think I'm thirtyish or something? You stop giving a shit about birthdays when you realize that they're never going to fucking end." he contemplated. "Eh, who cares. Let's go get some grub."

Wade eased himself off of the mattress and held out a hand to Peter.

Peter took it and pulled himself up, using more force than necessary so he was catapulted against Wade and could bring their lips together for a short but intense kiss. "Doesn't matter how old you are, you are gorgeous," he stated.

"Jeeze, Peter, you're supposed to use that kind of smooth talk _before_ you get in my pants," Wade responded with a soft smile. "But thanks."

They laced their fingers together and clasped each other's hands tightly for the entire trip to the uppermost floor.

Breakfast with Tony was just as entertaining, exciting, funny, annoying and weird as it could be. By now he and Peter got along just great, while Tony and Wade still had their partially respectful, mostly annoyed attitude towards each other. Peter tried to mediate between them to no avail, and finally just gave up. They were grown men, they somehow got along, so why should he bother?

They decided that Peter would train with Natasha so that she could show him some moves. Tony would attend to some of his Avengers duties and Wade would spend his day doing whatever he wanted, as long as that didn't trouble or bother any of the Avengers. Of course, Peter didn't forget (or rather Wade didn't forget and reminded Peter after breakfast) of the promised sex later on. After that, they parted.

Once Peter had left for the training room, Wade returned to their shared bedroom, where Clint was casually leaning up against the doorframe.

"So anything exciting happen while I was gone?" the bowman asked as he kicked off of the wall and followed Wade into the room. The generously sized space made his voice seem small as the door shut behind them.

"Played Mario Kart. Fucked. The usual," Wade threw over his shoulder. He was rewarded by a huff of amusement.

"You know, man, if you were anyone else I'd be busting your balls for this whirlwind romance nonsense. But, considering the crap you've been through, I'm just glad that you've found someone that makes you happy. Ya'll are good for each other," Clint stated as he moved across the room and cleared off the desk. From his pack he pulled out several rolled up sheaves of blueprints. Wade joined him, bumping shoulders companionably.

"Don't I know it," he responded warmly. It wasn't often that Wade was able to carve out any sort of contentment in his life, so Clint's understanding and acceptance of this one bit of silver lining was a welcome relief. "Alright, so show me what I need to do to hang on to my Petey-pie."

"Huh. Lookin' for ways to spice up the marriage other than a paper bag?" Clint stated offhandedly with a wink and a sly grin as he shuffled through the blueprints. The punch that Deadpool delivered to his arm was well deserved, but he hissed and shot Wade an angry glare nonetheless.

"Screw you, he _likes_ my face. Now get the fuck on with it, worm-breath," Wade growled.

Finally locating the sheet he needed, Clint smoothed out the corners on the cross-sectional diagrams. "So, your big bad's office is actually around mid-level in the Oscorp building and you've got some seriously high tech level security for an R and D lab. I couldn't hack their system and if the preliminaries from my drones are right, your usual guns blazing approach ain't gonna cut it," he explained, staunchly ignoring Wade's dirty look. "I was able to get in the air ducts though and finagle my way through. The DNA encryption software that they shoved up in those things is ancient by Tony standards. Some on the labs aren't connected to the conduit, but your target is."

"The fuck is up with you and the air ducts?" Wade asked with a furrowed brow. Sighing, Barton gestured to the map vehemently. "Can we please stay on topic? So if you enter the ventilation shaft," he began, only to be interrupted by Wade's subtle titter.

"Sorry, sorry. Keep going. Show me how you recommend working the shaft," Deadpool snickered, then his bearing and voice took a sudden, dangerous cast. "So I can go skull fuck this jerk off with my three fifty-seven."

The promise of pain in Wade's voice was enough to make Barton tense slightly and ease out of immediate reach. "Okay, well, the last big shift change is around eighteen-hundred, but the security change happens at twenty-hundred. You'll have a ninety second window to get your ass through the lobby, up the mezzanine, and into the ducts before they've got someone back on feed surveillance," he explained, tracing his finger along the blueprint at each junction. Wade nodded his affirmation and rolled his hand in a silent urging to carry on.

"So, once you're in the ducts, this is the path you'll take. You'll need to travel light though, because the horizontal shafts can get pretty snug," Clint explained as he pointedly eyed the mercenary's massive frame. Rolling his eyes Deadpool jabbed his finger into the room labeled 'pay dirt' in yellow crayon. "Yeah, yeah, I just won't eat my Wheaties tonight. Any specific shit to look out for along the way? I don't want to spook this mother fucker into hiding under the blankets before I get the chance to read him a bedtime story."

Easing down into a stiff back chair, Clint shook his head and frowned. "Nah. This is the most straightforward, in-and-out job I've ever seen. I don't think they were really expecting any threats from their experiments' angry boyfriends." He pulled out a small Stark watch preloaded with all of the intel that he had gathered and specifics on the suggested route, then handed it to Wade. "So when is this all going down?" he asked, curious.

Deadpool accepted the watch and strapped it on tightly. Looking down at Barton, he grinned darkly.

"You better prep your slippers for the ball, Princess. We're finishing this tonight."

Peter was nervous when he entered the training hall. He liked Natasha, but he had never interacted with her alone and he didn't really know how to act around her. With Tony he had shared a science-bond, but Natasha? It had also been easier with Tony because they had worked in a field he was comfortable in. Natasha would teach him to fight though and Peter had no foundational knowledge to work from. Natasha was so skilled and he knew nothing. He would waste her time. He was bothering her. She surely had better stuff to do than train a sorry noob.

He nervously let his fingers ghost over his webshooters as he entered, his shoulders pulled up a little in insecurity. What if he accidentally hurt her, like he had hurt Wade yesterday? Natasha couldn't heal as quickly. This just _couldn't_ go well.

"So, I hear you made a Wilson-sized stain that even the cleaners couldn't scrub out," Natasha stated in lieu of a greeting. She approached decked out in her full Black Widow suit, hair tied back in a loose bun. Each of her steps was careful and silent, the graceful sway of her hips hinting at the predator beneath.

"I, er… really?" Peter stammered. His adam's apple was bobbing uncomfortably. "I'm sorry… I, uh… I didn't mean to… Was an accident…"

"Oh really? That's a shame. It takes a lot to bring down Deadpool; here I was on the border of being impressed. But if it was an accident…" she trailed off with a small smile.

There. He had already fucked up. Well done, Parker. Not even one minute in and you already ruined it.

"N-no, honestly," he mumbled. "I just lost it and did something… And he didn't fight back… We just wanted to test out my strength and I accidentally overdid it…"

"Relax, Peter. A lot of people 'lose it' and still can't do what you can. I must say, you've certainly piqued my interest," Natasha stated as she walked around him, appraising. Once she completed her circuit, she came to a stop, arms akimbo, and canted her head to the side. "Come on. Let's see what you've got."

"I, uh…" Peter cleared his throat. He felt like the first time he had been to the principal's office back in his school days. "I don't have much, to be honest… I'm strong and fast, but I don't know yet how to use it…" Better lower the expectations right in the beginning. That was safer.

Natasha merely hummed noncommittally and strode over to the mat, expecting Peter to follow.

Once in position, she pointed to a spot on the floor on which Peter should stand. "Stand here," she ordered, voice deceptively soft.

Peter nodded and took his place. His heart was racing and he felt a little shaky. What if he failed? What if Natasha told him he would never be good in combat? Ugh. God, Parker, calm it. He would never make it through the training like this.

The spy sidestepped and turned so that she kept Peter framed in profile, crossing her arms and settling in place. "Alright, so here's the deal. I tell you what to do, you do it. Understood? Good. Now punch," she commanded.

"Punch…? You mean, punch the air?" Peter asked, confused.

Natasha blinked slowly. "Yes. The air."

"Okay…" Peter turned his head so he looked in front of himself and clenched his fists. Then he brought his feet apart, the right a bit in front of the other, and clumsily punched the air with his right hand.

The strike itself and the follow through was dismal.

Out of nowhere, Natasha snapped a thin baton at Peter's knees. "Soften your knees. You're too stiff," she reprimanded in a firm tone, then rapped the baton against his shoulder and elbow in quick succession. "Loosen your shoulders; you're telegraphing your movements. And bring your elbows in. I could drive a truck through the holes in your guard. Again."

Peter nodded slightly and did what Natasha had told him, correcting his stance. "This better?" he wanted to know.

"Better. Now strike," Natasha ordered.

Peter punched the air again, quicker and harder this time. Natasha wordlessly struck him with the baton in the areas that she wanted corrected. "Again."

Peter gritted his teeth, but didn't say anything. He just did as he was nonverbally told and repeated his action, over and over again until Natasha was finally satisfied.

Once Peter had mastered a simple motion, Natasha would introduce an added complexity or link it with a prior skill in a series of combinations.

Romanoff drilled him like that until she was satisfied with his basic form and accuracy. Though she didn't express it outright, she was impressed with just how quickly Peter was gaining in skill. Techniques and movement patterns that would take even professionals years to perfect he was somehow able to acquire and incorporate with a precision that was almost frightening.

"Enough. Let's move on," she stated, retracting the baton and returning it to its hidden pocket. She took up a position in front of Peter and squared her hips, arms hanging loose at her sides.

"Okay," Peter nodded, shaking out his limbs. "What's next?"

"I want you to hit me. If you can," she teased, allowing the corner of her lips to curl up into a small, dangerous smile.

Her trainee took a deep breath and swallowed hard. He knew he would fail. Natasha had years and years of experience and he was just a teenager on his second day of training. There was no way he would land a hit.

He still took the fighting stance they had just practiced and took another deep breath. He tried to focus and channel his strength, speed and aggression, but all of it was overlain by nervousness. Since he didn't want to make Natasha wait though, he simply darted forward and tried to punch her in the stomach, trying to move away again immediately as Wade had told him yesterday.

Natasha blocked the attack, but as she spun to deliver a counter-strike, Peter was already out of reach.

"Nicely done," she complimented, one eyebrow raised. "You learn quickly. But try to relax. I'm not going to hurt you," she reassured him. Peter's nervous tremors were visible to her trained eye.

"I'm not worried for myself," Peter admitted. "I have a healing factor, but you don't. Yesterday I turned Wade into a freaking crime scene. I don't want to accidentally hurt you."

Expression softening, Natasha motioned him over and set her hand on his shoulder. "If I can recall, your glass didn't shatter at breakfast, correct? The various light switches haven't been torn out of the wall when you use them?" she asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

Peter blinked at her, confused. "Uh, no, not anymore," he confirmed.

"Then you can control your strength," she stated simply. "I'm not your enemy, Peter. Focus on staying centered and calm. And regardless, as quickly as you learn, I'm still far better," she explained with a wink. "So come on, hit me."

Peter felt another argument come up inside of him, but he swallowed it down and smiled back a little. "Okay. I'm sorry," he apologized.

"There's no need to apologize for your fear. Recognize it, learn from it, and move on." Natasha shrugged as if it were a simple feat, then took up her position.

Peter blinked again. Move on… How should he ever move on from the panic he felt thanks to Norman Osborn? Was this training already moving on? Maybe. It was certainly a step in the right direction.

He closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. Then, without opening his eyes first, he moved towards Natasha again, trying to sweep her off of her feet.

The spy flipped over his leg and aimed her heel to come down on the junction of Peter's neck and shoulder.

Peter however had already moved on again, pushing himself off the ground with his other leg to flip backwards. He came back to his feet as fast as possible, quickly trying to see what Natasha was up to.

But, Natasha was already in a handstand, launching off of the ground into a partial back bend that placed her thighs in a vice around Peter's neck.

The teen wheezed in surprise and grabbed Natasha's legs helplessly.

Swinging her torso in a pendular arc, she used her momentum to bring Peter down to the ground, hard.

Peter groaned loudly. "Ou, fuck," he cursed. "That move sucks. I need to memorize that."

The spy smiled and tightly rebound her hair, offering Peter a hand as soon as she had finished. "Sure. I'd be happy to teach you. Maybe we should have Wilson serve as your practice mannequin," she suggested with faux sweetness. "But then again, I've seen what happens when you two get competitive."

At first Peter thought Natasha had been watching their training session yesterday, but then it suddenly hit him and he turned as red as a tomato, eyes wide. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit. He would actually _kill_ Wade later for the handjob last night!

Unable to keep a straight face, Natasha's lips curled up in a beatific smile. "Oh, relax. It's nothing I haven't seen before, though the blush is adorable," she commented with a wink. "I haven't seen that particular shade of red since Steve found out what a thong was."

"I, uh…" Peter stammered, clearing his throat. God, this was so embarrassing! "Yeah, I think it's not a good idea to train that move on Wade… I know what happens when I put my thighs around his head and trust me, it wouldn't be efficient for this training," he managed to joke somehow.

With a huff of laughter, Natasha shook her head. "Jarvis," she called out, "we're going to need a practice mannequin. Six foot two, heavy-weight class, muscular build."

"I would be happy to assist, Ms. Romanoff," Jarvis responded promptly. Before Jarvis had finished his statement, a portion of the floor slid aside and a faceless combat dummy rose in its place. The light glinted oddly off of its white, featureless face.

After only a few trials, Peter acquired the skill just as inordinately fast as all of the lessons that came before. While Wade's instruction had been all about letting go, Natasha had directed him in the art of swift, precise control.

After that they went on with attacking and counterattacking each other. Peter learned to strike and dodge, jump and hit, punch and kick, flip and duck in a never ending series of movements, always aware of Natasha's next move, always reacting to her own reactions. It was like a violent dance and soon Peter managed to switch off his concerns and just let his instincts lead him, just as Wade had told him yesterday. They trained for hours without Peter even noticing and by the end of the day, he had actually managed to hit Natasha a couple of times. When Jarvis called them for dinner, the teen was a sweaty, panting mess with bruises all over his body. But the grin that was plastered all over his face shone brighter than the sun.

When he finally made it back to his and Wade's shared room, he was met with the soft glow of candles and a small bistro table set for two. There was a conspicuous lack of red-clad mercenaries, but the shower could be heard running in the background.

Peter stared at the scenery with big eyes for a long moment. Never, in his entire life, had anyone ever done something like this for him. Not only a candlelight dinner, just generally anything romantic. He was so touched that his throat tightened and he teared up. Slowly, his gaze still wandering over all the candles and the table, he made his way over to the bathroom.

"Wade?" he asked lowly. He took off his webshooters and placed them on the sink before he came closer to the shower.

Peter's call went unheeded over the melodic sound of Toto's 'Africa.'

The teen smiled softly and got rid of his clothes. Then he stepped under the water and gently wrapped his arms around Wade from behind, kissing his shoulder.

"It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you. There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do. I blessed the- Jesus mother fucking shit nuggets!" Wade nearly shrieked at Peter's touch. Glancing back, wide-eyed, he spun in Peter's arms and hugged him excitedly. "Baby Boy! I didn't think you'd be back yet." He eagerly nuzzled the column of his lover's neck.

Peter giggled and stroked Wade's back. "Sorry I scared you," he apologized. "You didn't hear me over your rehearsal for the Christine Daaé casting."

"Oh no, that's your role, babe. I'm more of the creepy fucker hiding in the basement typecast," Wade retorted with a wide smile. "So how did training go? You look to be all in one piece." The merc allowed his hands to rove all across Peter's body and finally come to rest on his buttocks. "Yup, all in one piece," he confirmed, taking a generous handful.

Laughing, Peter squeezed Wade's ass in return. "I am still in one piece," he confirmed. "And training went actually quite well. Nat is cruel, but she taught me a whole lot. I will show you one of the moves later. You'll love it."

Smiling warmly, Wade backed up until they were both in the shower spray. "Mmm…I'm sure I will. But first, I made us dinner. It was supposed to be a surprise, but I guess I got a little caught up this afternoon," he said sheepishly.

"But it is a surprise!" Peter assured, softly leaning against his lover. "Really! I've never seen such a thing. I mean, in movies and such they do that all the time, but I've never - … It's a, uh - … Thank you." He stood on his toes to give Wade a tender kiss and then quickly changed the subject before he could turn all weepy again. "What were you doing this afternoon that got you so caught up?" he asked, a bit too casually.

Wade plucked up the bottle of shampoo and poured some into his cupped palm. "Pining after you and hanging out with Clint mostly. He's been having trouble with some experimental arms dealer or another lately and asked for a little help of the hunky mercenary variety. If it's cool, I was going to do a little recon with him later tonight. Just intel, nothing dangerous," he assured Peter as he diligently massaged the teen's scalp.

"Uh, sure," Peter replied. He wasn't sure at all - in fact the thought of Wade leaving made his heart pound like crazy in panic - but he figured that Wade deserved that. He had taken care of Peter in the last few days, had never left his side, had made sure the teen was safe and sound all day long. So how could Peter deny him going out to help a friend? He couldn't. It would be selfish and mean and unnecessary. The Avengers were still here to take care of him, after all.

"Hey, no worries. First I'm going to completely spoil my Petey-pie. You'll be so blissed out by my romantic sensibilities that you won't even notice I'm gone," Wade teased lightly. The warm water was welcome in that it kept the rising tension in his shoulders at bay. As much as he hated lying to Peter, he knew that killing Osborn and his legacy was the only way to keep his lover safe. He placed a soft kiss on Peter's brow, heedless of the soap. "I'll be back before you even wake up in the morning, babe."

Peter smiled softly and nodded. "It's okay," he assured. "Really. I'll manage to go one night without you, no worries."

With a wide grin, Wade lathered his chest and resumed singing, though a bit more sedately.

"The wild dogs cry out in the night, as they grow restless, longing for some solitary compaaaany..."

Peter grinned and snorted in amusement. Wade was good in a lot of things, but singing was not one of them. To make it even worse, Peter gave a howling sound, fitting to the lyrics.

They finished the song together, Wade with perhaps a bit more gusto than Peter, and stepped out of the shower to dry off. "Oh man, if this whole mercenary thing doesn't pan out in the long run, we should totally start a band," Deadpool cackled.

Peter laughed as he rubbed a towel over his hair. "And call it what? Earbleed?" he asked.

Hand slapping against his still damp chest, Wade moaned and curled over as if in pain. "You wound me!"

"Aw, babe. I know that you like pain," Peter smirked and slapped Wade's ass before he went back into the main room.

"Eh, you got me there," Wade responded with a shrug. He strode over to the walk-in closet and came back out dressed in blue jeans and a simple cotton t-shirt. Picking at the sleeves anxiously, Wade made his way back over to Peter, obviously not quite comfortable having that much skin on open display when intimacy wasn't on the table. "Hey, uh, I got us some more clothing and stuff while you were training," he pointed out, jerking his thumb back at the open closet.

"Cool, thanks," Peter replied. He came over to Wade and ran his hands up the merc's bare arms to soothe him. Then he stood on his toes to give him a soft kiss and a smile before he walked over to the closet to get dressed as well.

Wade couldn't help but admire the flex of muscle beneath flawless skin as Peter walked away.

A moment later the teen came back, clad in dark, skinny jeans and a black shirt. He smiled at Wade.

"Alright then, Toto," he quipped. "Enchant me romantically."

"Toto? Screw that. This is Michael Bolton level romance," Wade pronounced. Grinning, he pulled out a chair at the small table and offered it to Peter.

Peter laughed and sat down. "Good thing you're better looking than any of them," he stated.

Wade raised a brow but said nothing as he pushed in Peter's chair and took his own.

Now that he sat in front of it, Peter had a closer look at the things on the table.

Rose petals peppered the cream-colored table cloth in the few spaces where it managed to peek out from beneath the bountiful arrangement of platters and serving dishes. The dishes themselves were mostly covered with the exception of a spread of assorted breads and specialty cheeses.

A bottle of what appeared to be champagne at first glance occupied a stainless steel wine chiller set off to the side.

"Uh, I hope this is okay. I got the idea and the recipes and stuff off of the internet," Wade explained, shoulders slightly hunched in anticipation of Peter's verdict.

"Are you kidding?" Peter asked lowly. "This is incredible…" He still couldn't grasp the fact that Wade had done all this for him. Searching for recipes, getting all the ingredients, preparing all the different dishes. All this effort and thought, just for Peter. He softly bit his own lip and swallowed once.

Wade's face absolutely lit up at the teen's approval. He hastily whipped the platter tops off and set them on the adjacent desk chair. Generous portions of lasagna, heavy with mozzarella and the delicious scent of roasted garlic sat in a place of honor at the center of each plate. "I wasn't sure what you would like and all, but you seemed to like the tacos. So, I figured lasagna is like the bastardized Italian equivalent in square form. Oh, and you like science and stuff. These dishes are the shit. They keep food in stasis or something so it doesn't get soggy or change temperature. Leave it to Tony to design the best crap when he's drunk off of his ass," he prattled on, filling the room with his nervous chatter.

Peter laughed, still trying to take everything in. "I actually love lasagna, thank you. All of this looks delicious. I will probably explode later, thank you very much."

"Oh! Oh, good," the merc responded simply, grateful that he had chosen correctly. Bolstered by Peter's acceptance, Wade removed the covers on the remaining dishes, individual bowls of marinated artichoke salad and grilled Italian sausage, tossed with aromatic herbs and peppers. Then he promptly retrieved the chilled bottle and filled each of their flutes in turn.

"Thank you," Peter smiled. "Uhm, is there any water anywhere, too? I'm not really hard-drinking and I don't want to, you know… spoil the night by losing my self-control."

Wade snorted into his glass and quickly set it down so that he didn't choke. "You're right, what was the responsible adult in me thinking? But that's all we got, so I guess you'll just have to pace yourself. Small sips, Spider-babe, 'cause this is the good stuff."

Peter raised his brows and took his own glass in hand, sniffing carefully. "That's juice," he then stated. "Well played, Sugardaddypool." He took a sip and placed the glass back on the table. "But yeah, there's no need for you to fuddle me. I'm willingly yours anyway and even alcohol wouldn't make me any naughtier."

"Oh my Jesus fuck, kid. That is not just juice! It's _sparkling_ grape juice. It's the mac daddy of all confectionary drinks. As a matter of fact, all other juices bow down to the splendor of this gift from the gods of bubbly splendor. And anyways, you got a healing factor don't you? Alcohol wouldn't do shit," the merc stated, then took a long draw on his flute and set it down once more.

Peter laughed about Wade's grape juice praise and brushed some hair out of his face. "I don't know, I never really had alcohol," he explained. "It's illegal after all. But to be honest, right now I'm far more interested in all this food right in front of me. Training with Natasha is hard, I'm starving, and all of this smells amazing."

Wade abruptly cleared his throat to keep himself from casually explaining that the exchange of sex for money was also quite illegal. Looking down to hide his grin, he cut into his lasagna and shoveled a heaping forkful into his mouth all at once.

Peter followed his example, though with a far smaller portion on his fork. Aunt May had done her best to teach him manners, if anything.

After only two times chewing, Peter stopped to stare at Wade with wide eyes. "Oh my God," he mumbled, mouth full. "This is the best thing I've ever eaten in my life."

"Just wait until you try dessert," Wade said in turn, fidgeting beneath the weight of Peter's praise. Compliments were a rare thing in his life, and nearly nonexistent for the past ten years at least. He was as ecstatic as he was discomfited and honestly didn't know what to do with that.

"There's dessert?" Peter asked incredulously while he enthusiastically devoured his first mouthful of lasagna, only to get even more. "Oh my God, I will be a ball tomorrow!"

"What? Of course there's dessert, you heathen! 'Cause when a man loves a woman, I give you everything I got," Wade crooned. His plate was cleared in under two minutes. Leaning back against his stiff backed chair, he nursed another glass of sparkling white grape juice and settled in to watch Peter enjoy the meal.

"Hate to break it to you, but I'm no woman," Peter smiled as he emptied his own plate. He was hungry as hell and therefore ate pretty fast, but compared to Wade he was a snail.

"Eh, details," the merc retorted. They finished the meal in a steady buzz of amiable conversation, both faces and hearts made soft in the wavering candlelight.

Finally, Peter finished by drinking the last bit of grape juice out of his glass and putting it back down on the table. Sighing contently, he leaned back and sunk down a bit in his chair. "God, that was really awesome," he hummed, patting his own stomach. "If you ever tire of being a mercenary, you could easily become a chef."

"Eh, this mug tends to ruin appetites," Wade joked self-derisively. "I would need some super sexy model with fluffy ass hair as a go between for branding purposes. Anyhoo, I'll clean this up if you're ready for dessert."

Peter chuckled and ran a hand through his by now almost dry hair, leaving it standing in all directions. "My stomach says no, but my mouth says yes," he replied.

Deadpool busied himself with clearing the table and turned his attentions to the large platter on the desk adjacent. His massive frame obstructed Peter's view until the merc spun in place and set down a thick slice of apple pie with a dollop of quickly melting vanilla ice cream on top. "I know it doesn't really go with the whole theme. I shoulda done Tiramisu or something. But there's just nothing more satisfying than a fresh apple pie," Wade stated cheerily.

Peter's heart stopped beating for a second and then resumed his task by racing like crazy. Warm tears welled up in his eyes as he laughed and clutched his shirt above his heart.

"Yes, that's true," he commented, his voice trembling from both a chuckle and the tears. "Apple pie is good for everything…"

"Yeah! It's like this sweet, tart hug for your mouth. Plus, on lonely nights you can fu—uh, are you okay Spider-babe?" Wade reigned in his enthusiasm tightly and froze.

Peter laughed again and nodded, wiping his eyes with his wrist. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine! I'm good," he assured and sniffled. "It's just that… Aunt May used to make apple pie for me when I was down or for special occasions. So this is the perfect dessert, really."

"Oh," Wade said simply in understanding. "Hey, how about we have dessert in bed instead. See what's on TV or something?" More than anything, he just wanted to soothe the emotional wound that he had accidentally reopened with his coincidental choice of confectionary.

"Yeah, okay," Peter nodded. "Sorry, I didn't want to ruin anything. I really love apple pie, I swear."

He got up, still smiling and crying at the same time and wiped his eyes once more. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, it's just… I'm sorry."

Crossing the room in several easy strides, Wade deposited the two plates on the side table then veered back to swoop Peter up into his arms, bridal style. He nuzzled close and kissed away the salty tear tracks on the kid's face. "There's no need to apologize, Sweetums. Aunt May sounds like a great lady. How about we snuggle and have pie in her honor?"

"Yes," Peter nodded while simultaneously laughing and sobbing. "Yes, I'm sure she would like that."

Wade settled them both comfortably on the bed, so wrapped up in each other that eating was a chore. Laughing at the awkwardness, the merc finally just set his plate on the side table and took Peter's in hand to feed him small bites. They spent a good amount of time simply holding each other after that as the television droned on in the background. Wade sighed deeply and nuzzled Peter's hair. He had to protect this boy at all costs.

It was time to go to work.

Chapter 17

Chapter Text

The moment the door closed behind Wade, panic struck Peter. He didn't know why; it was ridiculous. He was completely safe here with the Avengers. He could even defend himself by now with his new moves and his webshooters. No one could harm him here. Yet he felt completely helpless the second Wade was gone. The last few days, Wade had always been around, always in the same building as Peter and only a call away. But now he was out there, somewhere. Peter didn't even know exactly where, and Peter could not call should he need him. The one thing that had made Peter feel safe and secure in this clusterfuck he called life was suddenly gone and only now did he realize exactly _how_ desperately he depended on Wade. To not completely go insane, he searched for something to occupy himself with.

At first he thought about maybe asking for the company of one of the Avengers, but he quickly scratched that. He didn't want to leave the room and he didn't want to talk to anybody. He felt too uneasy to have someone around. So he grabbed a Stark pad instead and started playing on it. He didn't have his head in the game though and it wasn't challenging enough to actually distract him. Groaning, he let himself slip off of the bed so that he was lying backward on the floor with his calves resting on the bed, and stared at the ceiling. What should he do? Maybe he should read something? Tony surely had some interesting scientific papers about - Wait. Science. That was it.

He still hadn't looked at the files of his father's research. Now was the perfect time to do it. It sounded mean, but he actually didn't want Wade around when he had a look at them. Wade would worry and would try to comfort him continually. But Peter needed peace and to be alone for this task. He needed to be able to fully dive into it and to concentrate. This wasn't going to be as emotional as the other files on the thumb drive; this was going to be very analytic. And for this it was best to be on his own.

He sat up and grabbed his duffel bag to roam through it until he found the drive. Before he shoved it into the pad though, he spent a while to make sure the pad was safe and no one else had access to the files on it or could surveil it. Tony was amazing when it came to programming, but the pad wasn't highly secured as it was only meant for the regular private use, so Peter could hack it easily. When he was done he grabbed the blanket and pulled it over himself to hide away in a cocoon. He still didn't fully trust that Jarvis didn't record what was going on in this room. Cross-legged and with his back leaned against the bed, Peter connected the thumb drive and began to read through the research files.

Grim-faced, Clint met Wade in the hall outside of the mercenary's room. The man was dressed in black leather breeches with a heavy tactical vest strapped across a gray, long-sleeve shirt, not an Avengers emblem in sight. He tightly cinched a loose tie on his bracer as he eyed Wade's bright red costume. "You ready?"

Deadpool studied him clinically. "Yeah, I'm ready."

"Good. These are yours," Barton stated as he shoved Wade's sheathed katana into his chest, then walked past him to the elevator.

They made it out of the tower without incident and commandeered one of Stark's motorcycles. It was a sleek, sexy machine that didn't rely on internal combustion to be propelled and, as such, soared down the crowded streets and sidewalks with no more than a subtle whine.

"Where are you going, Wade? Oscorp's the other way!" Clint hissed into Deadpool's ear while he clung to the mercenary's waist. The New York nightscape flashed past in a blur of sirens and Technicolor light.

"I gotta stop by my place and re-up my munitions. I didn't bring jack shit with me to the tower," Wade hollered back over the wail of honking horns.

"Goddamnit, Wade! We only have thirty minutes before we have to be in position!" Barton raged, only for Wade to reach back and pat his head.

"Calm your tits, Early Bird Special. I ain't gonna be late."

Ever the master of subtlety, Deadpool rocketed past his terrified bellhop and straight into the lobby of the 15 Central Park West tower. The motorcycle tires left a dark tread mark and the cloying scent of burnt rubber as they squealed to a standstill. Clint punctuated the tableau by running to the closest decorative vase and promptly emptying the contents of his stomach.

Rolling his eyes, Wade strode to the elevator and punched in his penthouse code while simultaneously reaching into his belt and deactivating his anti-personnel defense measures with the slender remote. It beeped at him once, indicating that the security system had already been taken offline. With a dangerous grin, Wade unsheathed his katana and waited patiently until the elevator doors opened up to the dark entry hall of his penthouse.

There was a lot to read and watch. Peter had to stop in between to get himself a notepad and a pencil to make some notes. The research was complicated, high-level biochemistry, and even though Peter was a very smart kid, he didn't get all of it.

According to the videos and audio files, Connors and Peter's father had worked closely together and had shared their experiments, formula and ideas. What had always been their problem was the decay rate algorithm. They just hadn't been able to figure it out, so the experiments had never fully worked. But his dad must have figured it out at some point. He had successfully bred the spiders after all. But how? Had he hidden the secret somewhere? He must have. It was nowhere in the recordings.

Peter changed from videos to text files and photos of equations. He wanted to have a look at the theoretical part of the research. Maybe that would help him figure out how his dad had made it work.

He scrolled around a little until he suddenly came across something that made his heart beat faster.

 _ØØ Decay Rate Algorithm ?_ was written there in big, red letters on an otherwise empty document scan.

ØØ. Peter had seen this code before. That was it. That was where his dad had written down the algorithm!

Deadpool stalked through his penthouse, quickly taking note of each and every subtle nuance of change. Someone had been here. Several someones, as a matter of fact.

He slunk into his guest room and donned a dark gray hoodie and sweatpants to hide the conspicuous red of his costume, then strode into his munitions room, keeping to the shadows. In a matter of moments, he was weighed down by enough firearms and ammunition to overthrow a small country. With that done, he meant to quietly slip back out into the elevator, but a clatter in the kitchen brought him up short. The fact that he had only fifteen minutes to get into position was set to the backburner in favor of spilling some of the snooping bastard's blood.

Stalking towards the commotion, Deadpool noted the angle of the intruder's shadow against the moonlight filtering in through the den windows. Instantly calculating the figure's position, Wade leapt into action and roughly grabbed the man by the jaw, resting his knife against his jugular from behind.

"You got two seconds to spill the beans before I slit your fuckin' throat," Wade growled in warning.

The figure simply sighed against the gloved vice that pinched his cheeks. "Sir, could you kindly remove your weapon from my neck before you stain the granite," Jonathan requested tiredly. Deadpool recoiled with a surprised hiss. "Jarvis! I thought I told you to take the week off? What the fuck is an old biddy like you doing stumbling around with the lights off?" Wade asked loudly.

"My job, Mr. Wilson," the butler retorted dryly as he gestured at the mess of shattered dishes and suspicious red drag marks littering the kitchen floor, nearly invisible in the darkness.

Wade toed at the shards of ceramic that he could feel but hardly see. "What, breaking my shit?" he asked slowly.

"Cleaning up the mess." Jonathan's reply was uncharacteristically curt. "Where is Peter?" he continued.

Crunching through the broken dishware, Wade retreated back the way he had come. "He's taking a spa day. You should probably do the same rather than stew in the dark and take out your old-man frustrations on my dishes. Anyways, I'd love to reminisce about the good ole days and help chase kids off of your lawn, but I gotta run now. Toodles. Call me if any ninja spies show up or if you need a new pacemaker battery or something." With that, he glanced at his watch and ran towards the elevator. Jonathan cocked his head and followed Wade's progress in the dark before fishing beneath the counter for the bleach.

Moments later, Deadpool and Clint peeled out of the lobby in a cloud of tire smoke.

Peter snuck out of his room and made his way upstairs. The penthouse was empty, all of the Avengers were in their private rooms. Perfect. Without being seen by anyone but Jarvis, Peter went out onto the balcony and had a look around. Manhattan was filled with skyscrapers, especially around Central Park, and Wade's apartment wasn't far away. He could make it there before the Avengers would even be ready to go after him.

Taking a deep breath, Peter took a running start and leapt off of the balcony. With a subtle flick of his palm, he shot a webstring to a near high-rise and used the momentum to swing through the air like Tarzan. Protected by the dark of the night, he swung over to 15 Central Park West while Jarvis immediately reported his absence to the Avengers.

Meanwhile, Oscorp loomed in front of Wade like a glittering honeycomb.

A brief glint from the adjacent rooftop was all he needed to affirm Clint's position. "Good luck," the archer offered through their two-way headset before resuming radio silence.

They were ready to go.

Invisible in his dark gray hoodie and sweats, Wade sidled up close to the entrance doorway just as a couple of security guards approached from opposite sides of the glass. "Alright, you have a good night, John," a middle-aged man said with an amiable wave as he quickly mounted the entryway steps. John waved back as they passed. "Yeah, you do the same." Before the door shut completely behind Not-John's back, Wade slipped out of the shadows and caught the steel lip with his fingertips.

He cautiously rounded the door, then immediately ducked to the side of the entryway and rolled behind a display of fake foliage without being noticed. The lobby was a massive, marble laden affair with a long escalator mounting an angular façade of glass panels. Water gurgled softly down the panels and glinted with the bright lights from an overhead mezzanine. Wade's entry-point was going to be on the far side of the mezzanine, completely exposed to anyone who chose to glance at the security footage. Luckily, Not-John was still whistling a jaunty tune as he waited patiently for the escalator to deliver him to the next level and, with it, the security feed room. When Not-John's foot hit the mezzanine, Wade would have thirty seconds to get his giant ass across the lobby and wedged into the vent. A vent that was much smaller on his watch readout than Clint had described it being. "Should've skipped the second serving of pie," Deadpool muttered beneath his breath.

Once the escalator delivered its payload, Wade raced the clock.

The mercenary swiftly sprinted across the lobby, leapt over the turnstiles, and gracefully launched himself up the decorative fountain and over the mezzanine banister.

Twenty-six seconds to go.

He slid on his knees up to the access grate and unscrewed the four corners with steady hands, settling the grate onto the floor.

Nineteen seconds.

The crawl space was an incredibly tight fit, so much so that Wade had to violently shuck off his clothing down to his Deadpool suit and try again.

Eight seconds.

Shoving the clothing in first, he awkwardly shuffled his body back into the space and reached out for the vent cover.

One second.

The cover snapped into place and Wade breathed a sigh of relief.

He was in.

Peter landed on the balcony at Wade's penthouse and simply kicked in the window. He didn't think anyone was around, so why bother? Wade could easily get a new window as soon as they decided to move back here, if they ever decided to do so. For now, getting in was more important than having the window intact. Peter needed to fetch something without delay.

He hurried through the hallways over to his room and slipped inside. The nightstand. There, in the drawer. Yes. Peter picked up the folder.

His father had left behind his briefcase in Uncle Ben's and Aunt May's basement the day he and Mary had left. Peter had found it there one day when the HVAC supply line had been broken and had basically flooded the basement. Examining the case, Peter had discovered a hidden compartment in the lining that had contained his father's secret records. And there it was. Right in the corner of the cover, in big, red letters. ØØ.

His breath stuttering, Peter opened the folder. He had never really looked at it, but the first page already contained everything.

There it was. The decay rate algorithm. Norman Osborn was certainly trying to get his hands on this. Peter had to get it out of here before Oscorp could search this place.

Climbing and shuffling through the air ducts was a practice in tedium. Seriously, whoever had designed the damn things obviously hadn't accounted for hunky Canadians with an axe to grind to stealthily maneuver through the damn things. The going was laboriously slow and distinctly lacking in bloodshed.

"Gender Crisis, this is Daddy Pool, do you copy?" Wade whispered into his headset. Clint's furious muttering crackled through.

"I'm not even going to ask. Yeah, I copy. You at the first scanner junction?"

"Yeah. How do I crack this baby open?" Deadpool asked, scooting closer to the small, subtle aperture projecting next to a wall of lasers only visible by the motes of dust that swirled around them.

"Press the two blue buttons on your watch at the same time and point it at the scanner," Clint responded promptly.

Wade did so and let out a sigh as the subtle hum in front of him vanished. While necessary, this subtlety bullshit was the worst part of any job. Without responding further, he continued belly-crawling through the duct until he finally reached Osborn's wing and, with it, the labs.

Deadpool slowly eased himself adjacent to a large vent cover and backed out the screws until the four little bits of metal fell to the linoleum below. He eased the grate out of the way and lowered himself to the ground silently. The grate itself fell back in its position with a mild clatter. Wade dove into a nearby doorway and froze, but it seemed that the noise had gone unremarked.

Peaking in both directions down the long hall, Deadpool referred to the floor plans on his watch and made toward the flashing mark that indicated Norman's office. "GC, you still got eyes on the prize?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah, Count Prick-ula is still sitting at his desk," Barton relayed.

Wade snorted in amusement. It wasn't the greatest quip, but it deserved points for inventiveness.

Just as he rounded a corner, the merc was brought up short by an extremely surprised man in a lab coat. "Who are-" the man began, only to fall to his knees, grasping feebly at his throat to contain the deluge of blood from where it had been slit. Deadpool slid his dirty knife back into his boot and pulled his katana with a smile.

Things had finally gotten interesting.

The door behind the lab technician stood ajar, soft moans of pain emanating from the room and piquing Wade's interest. Norman was still fucking around in his office. Surely a moment for Wade to satisfy his curiosity wouldn't be remiss.

Men and women in white coats startled out of their chairs as Deadpool strode in, tapping his katana blades on empty gurneys in a cacophonous drum solo.

"Sup, bitches?" he greeted them jovially, eyes immediately locking on a pale figure strapped to metal table in the middle of the room.

"Who the hell are you?" one of the scientists began to yell in affront, but Deadpool ignored him in favor of approaching the surgical table.

The nude figure gasped for breath through the wet towel draped across his face and writhed against his bonds as portions of his limbs seemed to shift from skin to scales, to chitin, then back. Deadpool had to take a moment to close his eyes and convince himself that this wasn't Weapon X. The pained moans weren't coming from his own mouth as he thrashed futilely to escape the pain and degradation.

Movement in his periphery disrupted his flashback and brought his attention back to the sick fucks who would perpetrate the crime of human experimentation. A woman was desperately inching towards a flashing console, which Wade surmised housed a silent alarm. However, she was brought up short by the katana that suddenly pierced her leg and pinned her to the metal floor. She went down with a scream that made the remaining scientists huddle together, eyes wide in fear.

"Sit your ass down, lady," Deadpool growled. "See, now. I don't take too fucking kindly to uppity jack holes in white coats going around and doing whatever the fuck they please."

The mercenary paced restlessly in front of them as he violently scrubbed at his masked face.

"But, we -" one of the cowering men interrupted, only to be cut off by Wade's roaring baritone. "Was I finished, twat-waffle? No! So shut the fuck up and wait your shit-swizzling turn! I'll be with ya'll in a minute."

He went back to the table and eased the wet towel off of the struggling figure's face.

The boy looked to be about Peter's age. If not for hiring the callboy on a whim, Wade would likely have been staring at Peter's youthful visage right now instead of this poor kid. Swallowing heavily, Deadpool tilted the young-man's chin up and gazed into his sightless eyes. "Hey kid, I'm going to get you out of this, okay? What's your name?" he asked softly.

"Reggie," the teen responded in a pained croak.

"Alright, Reggie, just relax. I've got you," Deadpool responded, then mercifully snapped his neck. Near blinded by tears, he turned towards the cowering scientists in slow motion and pulled out his Beretta PX4, quickly screwing on a suppressor.

A series of sharp pops filtered out into the corridor, quickly followed by the grim-faced mercenary. His only regret was not having the time to draw it out further. He strode down the hall purposefully, red boot prints denoting his progress like a whimsical treasure map.

"Wade," Clint's urgent voice cut through the oppressively thick silence of the hall. "Your butler just called, said Peter's at your place." Gritting his teeth, Deadpool came upon Norman's office door. "What the fuck is he doing there?" he hissed.

"I dunno, man. The guy didn't say, just told me to relay the message ASAP," Barton replied, voice tapering off. "Hey, um. Where are you?"

"Just about to shove my foot so far up this fucker's ass that he can use my toenails as toothpicks. Why?" Wade growled as he took a step back and readied to kick the door down.

"Because Norman just got up like the devil was after him. I don't have a visual."

Without pause, Wade kicked the massive wooden doors in and swiftly cleared the room. He leapt over the massive office desk and skidded to a stop just within the closet. There was no one there, just a smoothly contoured wall, glaring back at him accusingly.

Clint winced at the string of yelled expletives as they filtered through the headset. "What the actual fuck?!" Wade screamed. How had he lost him? There was only one way in and out of the office according to the blueprints.

"Hey Wade, we got a bogie leaving the tower. Fast," Clint interrupted to report, a note of unease in his voice.

Deadpool walked back into the room and punched Norman's desk with his blood-spattered fist. He glanced out of the window at where he knew Barton was camped. "Where's it heading?" he asked, dread a heavy stone in his gut.

"It's on a direct trajectory towards your place."

Peter's spider-sense crackled against his skin as the loud, staccato retort of a mini-gun and exploding glass resounded down the hallway.

A thin, reedy voice called out from the destroyed master bedroom.

"Peter Benjamin Parker. You're pathetically predictable. Always running back to the places you've left behind. Your sentiment has always been your greatest weakness, boy," Norman said with a sharp laugh.

Panic shot through Peter's body, so cold that he froze and his heart stopped beating. He was completely paralysed, not even able to think properly. He was here. Norman Osborn had found him. He was here and he was going to capture Peter, so he could drag him back to Oscorp and torture him into insanity with experiments and tests, to slaughter him just like his parents had been.

His parents. His aunt and uncle. Their murderer was right here. The person who had destroyed Peter's entire life. Suddenly, his panic turned into a conflagration of hatred.

He quickly tore the page out of the file and stuffed it into his pocket. Norman wouldn't get his father's research. And he wouldn't get Peter either. It was time to pay this man back for all the horrible things he had done.

"Maybe it is," he called back, turning around to face the doorway. "But _your_ greatest weakness certainly is me. And that will be your doom now, once and for all."

An odd whining sound heralded Norman's presence in the doorway.

The man was squatting on what appeared to be a weaponized hoverboard, decked out in an odd, green metallic-suit. He grinned maliciously as the wings of his glider pressed through the doorframe in a shower of wood and plaster.

"Oh, feisty. I like the empty bravado. You know, I tried to do this the nice way at first, but daddy dearest just wouldn't share his toys. He didn't realize until too late that nobody says 'no' to me," the man hissed as he hovered closer to Peter. "Are you going to say 'no,' too, Peter." The Green Goblin leaned in with a perpetually sadistic grin.

Peter stared back at him, anger burning in his eyes. "I will say 'goodbye' to you, because tonight you're going to die," he snarled back.

Norman's grin fell in stages like the ticking of a clock. "I'd like to see you try, little whore," he growled, voice suddenly devoid of mirth.

Peter ran towards Norman with a yell and jumped, kicking the man in the face. He backflipped and landed on his feet again, ready for the next strike the moment he met the ground.

But Norman recovered quickly. Without warning, he dove forward and wrapped one metallic fist around Peter's throat.

Peter had never seen this suit before. He had no idea what it was capable of, but apparently it provided Norman with enough strength to fight. His grip was strong; Peter was unable to breathe through it. But that didn't matter, he had his tactics. And sometimes the simplest ones worked the best, so he just aimed with both of his index fingers for Norman's eyes.

With an enraged snarl, Norman leapt off of his board and ducked beneath Peter's arms, never letting go of his throat. He finally released his grasp as he spun to the side and attempted to deliver a heavy blow to the back of Peter's head.

But the teen had managed to duck the second his throat was released and spun around to lash out at Norman's legs.

The man went down heavily. He laid there for a brief moment, then began to laugh. The boisterous sound built in volume until it was nearly hysterical.

"I am really going to enjoy this," he managed to choke out, just as his glider launched a smoke bomb directly towards Peter's chest.

Peter gave a surprised gasp and jumped instinctively to avoid the bomb. He managed to dodge it, but the jump had been too hasty and he couldn't land properly, so he collided with the table.

As the teen rebounded off of the piece of furniture and onto his knees, Norman used the opportunity to roll up from the floor and pull a syringe from a housing at his waist. The room quickly began to fill with smoke, obscuring their vision, but not the clarion call of his dark chuckle.

Peter ran for the door. He had to get out of here, he couldn't see anymore. His special sense still warned him, but that wasn't enough. He had to get out of the smoke.

Out of nowhere, a hand latched onto his wrist and pulled the teen, stumbling and coughing, out into the hall. Jonathan shoved Peter behind him and stood staunchly in the doorway, rapidly firing a pistol at the Green Goblin with foreboding calm. When the trigger clicked in protestation against the empty magazine, the butler urgently motioned for Peter to move. "I would highly recommend a tactical retreat at this moment, sir," he stated, voice flat and professional.

"Jonathan!" Peter coughed out. "What are you doing here! Get out, he's going to kill you!"

"He can certainly try," Jonathan scoffed as he reloaded and emptied his magazine once more into the roiling cloud of smoke behind them. There was the wet sound of fleshy impact and a resultant high-pitched laugh. Soon after, Norman came rocketing down the hall on his glider, grinning maniacally despite the bloom of red on the shoulder joint of his armor where the material was thin by necessity.

"I'm not kidding!" Peter insisted. "Get out of here! I don't want another person to die for me! I can handle Norman myself!"

The butler narrowed his eyes at Peter and looked him up and down appraisingly. "If you get hurt, Mr. Wilson will not be pleased," he stated.

"This is not the time to argue, Jonathan! I'm not going to let him hurt _you!"_ Peter exclaimed.

With a curt nod, Jonathan eyed the maniac on a hoverboard one last time, then jogged down the corridor and into the den.

Norman rocketed over Peter's head and spiraled down to hover before him. "Don't worry, Peter. I'll of course take good care of your friends as well. As a matter of fact, I've already dealt with your ridiculous boy toy," he mocked.

Despite the knowledge that Wade was immortal, Peter's heart stopped a beat before the teen grimaced in anger and clenched his fists. "What have you done to Wade," he growled darkly.

"Wade," Norman repeated, rolling the word on his tongue as if testing the way it felt in his mouth. "He certainly doesn't look like a 'Wade.' But then again, it's hard to look like much of anything when you're nothing more than a collection of body parts in jars." Chuckling once more, the Green Goblin dove and leapt from his board to rain down a devastating haymaker.

"NO!" Peter screamed. Before he could think, he threw himself backwards to land on his hands, his arms bent, and then pushed himself off again hard to meet Norman midair with his feet against the man's chest. He shot a webstring with one wrist to catch himself on the ceiling and shot another down to catch the Green Goblin with it. Dropping from the ceiling and landing on his feet, Peter grabbed the string with both hands and pulled it hard over his head to throw Norman down the hallway. He didn't know if Norman was just bluffing to fuck with him, but the thought that Wade really could have been hurt like that made Peter so furious that he lost all self-control. He would kill Norman Osborn. And he would laugh in his face when he did.

The eerie rasp of Norman's unrelenting laughter echoed in the hall. He slowly climbed back to his feet, using his hands on his knees for leverage.

"Oh, you should have heard him, Peter. On his knees, begging for his life and calling out for his little whore boyfriend. His screams were beautiful," he drawled.

"Wade doesn't beg for his life, you sick fuck!" Peter spit out. "He worries more for me than he does for himself!" He ran towards Norman to attack him again, his rage almost blinding him.

The Goblin tried to throw a cluster bomb, but Peter's blow wrenched it out of his hand and sent it flying into the next room. The entire glass façade shattered outward from the force of the concussion while furniture exploded into shrapnel and embedded itself in the walls. Norman rallied himself quickly and charged.

Before he could fire though, Peter's calves closed around his neck and the teen spun him around with a powerful twist of his own body. As soon as he landed, Peter rolled over and jumped to his feet, shooting several webstrings at Norman in an attempt to tie him to the floor.

Norman's suit whined ominously where the sticky webbing had glued together the mechanical components bracing his knees. He somehow managed to kick free of the binds and get back to his feet, though one arm was completely bound to his chest and the legs of his suit were all but incapacitated. He managed to take a handful of hobbling steps towards Peter. "You are so very disappointing. Just as puerile minded as your father. Just as pathetic as your mother. Just as feeble and naive as your aunt and uncle. You are the pitiful result of a weak gene pool. I'm offering you a chance to make something better of yourself. Something more than a failure and a shameless slut," Norman coaxed as he limped closer. Another syringe dropped from his gauntlet into his free palm.

"I am the son of a scientist who was able to create your cure," Peter replied and shot a webstring right at Norman's face. "And who refused to give it to you because you are a terrible person." He kicked Norman's hand to make the next syringe miss as well. "He made a mistake, but I'll fix it. By ending you permanently!"

"You don't have the guts, boy," the Green Goblin hissed as he fell to his knees and clawed futiley at his face. "I made you what you are. Without me you'd just be another useless nobody in a sea of nobodies."

"You made me what I am?!" Peter jumped off the floor and spun around to kick Norman against the back of the head. "Didn't you just call me a failure and a shameless slut?! I don't want to be what I am! I want to have my parents back, I want to be a normal teenager without all these powers! But I am what I am now, and I'm going to thank you for it! By fucking your skull with a bullet, 'cause fucking is what I'm good at!"

Blood poured from Norman's shattered nose where his face had struck the marble tile. He shakily pressed himself up and tried to breathe through the deluge of blood beneath the webbing. "Whiney brat," he managed to choke out while reaching blindly for Peter.

"Pathetic, dying asshole," Peter growled back and webbed Norman to the floor once more.

"After you, boy," the Green Goblin snarled as he collapsed against the tile. He curled his fingers and tapped out a brief code against the floor. The pressure plates in his armored glove activated his glider once more and sent it hurtling towards Peter, spewing a roaring jet of flame from the thrusters.

The machine moved too quickly for the teen to dodge and slammed into his abdomen with full force. Norman guffawed as Peter was crushed into the wall.

The air was knocked out of Peter's body with a loud gasp before he collapsed into a groaning heap on the floor. He saw stars and was unable to breathe for a moment, let alone get back to his feet. With another series of taps, the glider lowered and hovered in front of Peter's crumpled body, unsheathing a line of small missiles. The engines whined once more as it powered up to strike.

Abruptly, the building whine petered out and the glider dropped to the floor with a clatter.

Norman roared impotently as his suit went completely limp as well.

"My sincerest apologies for the wait, sir. Mr. Wilson's organizational skills certainly leave something to be desired," Jonathan apologized, striding into the room and going straight to Osborn's prone form. "NNEMP," he explained, lips quirked up in a mischievous grin.

Peter looked up at the butler incredulously, holding his aching stomach. He wasn't able to talk yet, but somehow tried to get up to his feet. He stumbled though and needed to drag himself up using the wall.

Jonathan dropped his knee between Norman's shoulder blades and wrenched his head back by the hair. "Now, what would you like done with the refuse? As long as he lives, you will never be free, Peter. You need to end this now," he stated with cold indifference towards the monster of a man beneath him.

The butler's knowledge of his situation made Peter uneasy, but that was a mystery for another time.

"I know," he wheezed and hobbled over to the two men. "I just don't know yet how I want to kill this monster. I don't think there's a way that's cruel enough."

"Do this, Peter, and you're no better than I am," Norman hissed in a last ditch effort to change his fate.

"Are you shitting me? Peter's a better man than all of New York put to-fuckin-gether, cock sucker," a baritone voice growled. Deadpool rounded the corner and took in the scene with murder in his eyes.

"Wade!" Peter called out in relief and immediately hurried over to him, despite the pain in his body. He hadn't believed Norman's horror story, but he had still been worried. He threw himself against Wade's body with a sob and slung his arms around the merc.

Deadpool engulfed Peter in his arms and buried his masked face in the teen's hair. "Baby Boy, I'm so, so sorry. I got here as soon as I could. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm alright," Peter mumbled against Wade's chest. "Don't worry, I'm alright. I'm alright."

Wade chuckled brokenly. "I think I'm going to have to hear that about a hundred more times before I believe it." He tugged off his mask and pressed his lips against Peter's sweaty brow. Now that Peter's safety was assured, Wade surveyed the destroyed remnants of what used to be his living room, then the snarling form of Norman Osborn as he lay pinned beneath the butler's steel grasp.

"Who stationed you here, Jonathan?" he asked over Peter's head, eyes narrowed.

"Mr. Rogers, sir, to 'keep you out of trouble,'" the butler responded with a cheeky wink.

"Huh," Wade responded with a raised brow and nothing more.

"I knew you were too cool to be a butler," Peter stated, but he didn't really feel the joke. He was far too agitated right now.

Attention brought back to the trembling teen in his arms, Wade carded his fingers through Peter's hair and tilted his chin up until their eyes met. "Babe, I can't apologize enough," he began, speaking softly so that only they could hear. "I promised that I would protect you, but I wasn't there when you needed me. I shouldn't have left. I… I could have lost you tonight." Voice thick, Wade once more wrapped both arms around his lover and held on tightly.

"No, no, it's okay," Peter assured. "It's all good. It was my own fault. I was trying to retrieve something from here. I shouldn't have done that."

"You two make me sick," Norman spat from the floor.

Without hesitation, Jonathan slammed his face into the tile and then cranked his neck back again. "Sir? We're not in the clear yet. How would you like this handled?" he asked, looking pointedly at Peter.

Peter slowly turned to look down at the defeated man on the floor. The man that had ruined his life, had killed all his loved ones and had played with him to break him even more. The man that had wanted to experiment on him and tear him apart, that had tried to kill him only a few minutes ago. This sick, disgusting, terrible man that had haunted Peter in his worst nightmares and had turned his entire life into a nightmare as well. Now he was finally down and Peter could take his revenge.

"I want to kill him," he announced coldly. "I want him to finally die. From my own hands."

Wade stiffened behind him and laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Are you sure about this, kid?" he asked gently.

"I've never been so sure about anything in my life," Peter assured darkly.

Nodding, Deadpool eased a suppressed CZ 75 P-01 out of his thigh holster. He ejected the magazine onto the floor with a flick of his wrist and slid home a new magazine filled with hollow-points. Racking the slide with a swift, sure motion, he finally pressed the butt of the gun into Peter's hand. "It's ready to go. All you have to do is pull the trigger."

Peter was unable to speak, but he nodded firmly and grabbed the gun tightly. With shaking legs he strode over to Norman and pointed the gun at him.

"I've been waiting for this for so long," he whispered, lips trembling. "You will get one bullet for every life you have taken from me. One for my father, one for my mother, one for my uncle, one for my aunt. And then a few more just for myself. You know what this is?" He shoved his free hand in his pocket and pulled out the piece of paper from the files. "This is my father's hidden record. The decay rate algorithm. I have it. And I have my blood. After you're dead, I can finish the research you were longing for and I can use it for something good. And I will do so with the knowledge that you will never profit from it and it will make me smile. That's what you get for fucking with me, you sick jerk."

Baring his teeth, Osborn made certain to crack his eyes open and stare Peter down through the holes in the webbing. "You think you've won, but I'll still have the last laugh. I'll watch from the other side while you live alone and die alone. Because who would ever want a broken little toy like you?"

Surprisingly, it was Jonathan who spoke first. "You are sorely mistaken," he stated simply as he released Norman's hair and rose to stand at Peter's side.

Wade stepped up, a warm, reassuring presence at Peter's back. "Waste him, babe," he whispered as he placed a soft kiss to the side of the teen's neck.

Peter smiled widely, a single tear rolling down his cheek. "Goodbye, Norman," he said as he had promised. "The only one dying alone here is you."

Then he pulled the trigger. The bullet hit Norman right between the eyes. Brain matter splattered over the green armor and dripped onto the floor. Peter winced at the sharp pop of the gun and the disgusting wet sound of a human head being shot. Three seconds passed. Then Peter pulled the trigger again and then again, tears streaming down his face, until his shaking hand just couldn't hold the gun anymore and it clattered to the floor. With a loud, violent scream, Peter curled over and hugged his own stomach, sinking down to his knees. It was over. Norman Osborn was dead. Peter was finally free.

Wade followed him down and gathered the sobbing teen tightly against his chest. "You did it. You did it, baby. It's over. No one's ever going to hurt you again," he assured his lover.

Peter leaned against Wade heavily, shaken by violent sobs. By now he was hiding his face behind his hands, wetting his palms with his own tears. He didn't even know why he was crying. Maybe it was relief, maybe it was the shock finally breaking over him. Peter didn't care. He was just crying and he didn't stop any time soon.

Arrow knocked, Clint silently swept around the corner and came to a stop once his eyes fell on the bloodied body that used to be Norman Osborn. "Ah, shit. Is everyone okay? Well, except for the dead guy," he asked as he lowered his bow. Wade held Peter all the tighter.

"Yeah, we're good," he responded without looking back. It had been a long night, but Peter had his life back. They were better than 'good.'

"Alright. They're probably on their way, but I'll go call Steve," Barton muttered. He kicked at the debris on the floor as he strode out to watch the skyline and place the call.

The trip back to the tower in Tony's helicopter passed by in a blur. Wade and Peter stayed silently wrapped around each other, inseparable. Steve and Tony's pleas for an explanation fell on deaf ears until Clint buckled and told them that the three of them would do a debriefing once they had landed.

Without a word, Deadpool scooped his lover up and carried him to their room, breezing past the Avengers' questioning stares.

Peter was still clutching the folded paper, holding it tight. Wade had to peel it out of his hand once they arrived in their room so that he could help Peter undress and gently guide him into the shower to wash off the blood and dust. Peter didn't move much on his own, so Wade had to do the washing for him. It was almost like the catatonic state the teen had been in only a few nights ago, when they had found out that Oscorp had been on their heels. This time it was for a different reason though.

"Talk to me, beautiful," the merc requested softly beneath the shower spray.

"I don't know what to say," Peter responded flatly. "It's like my life has suddenly ended. All the fear, all the caution are gone. I can just walk outside tomorrow morning. I'll never have to worry anymore. I should feel good about that, but I just can't grasp it. I just shot the murderer of my loved ones in the head. I just killed someone. It's all so unreal."

"No, baby. That wasn't a man that you killed; that was a monster. If there had ever been even a trace of humanity in that rotten core, it was long gone. You did the right thing. You fought him and you won. You. You took your power, your life, back," Wade responded with a gentle smile. He traced the curve of Peter's cheekbones and let his palms slide down the taper of his neck. Leaning in, he placed a delicate kiss to Peter's lips. "I love you, Peter. You're this strong, witty, brilliant gift and the world will be better now having you in it. And, if you'll have me, I'd like to try to show you just how real happiness can be. Well, not that I'm a prime fucking example of fairytale endings and I think I got that line out of a Hallmark card, but you get what I'm trying to say," he finished lamely.

Peter looked at him, startled. "What do you mean 'if you'll have me'?" he asked. "I took it for granted that we will stay together. I mean, I don't even know what to do now. Sure, now I can finish high-school, go to college, get a job, whatever. But that's all just… things and I don't - ... You're all that I have and there's no way I will give up on that. Ever," he stated.

Swallowing past the tightness in his throat, Wade leaned down and pressed their lips together chastely once more, though he lingered a moment to allow the shower spray to obscure the tears that spilled down his face.

"I- I suppose our first order of business should be re-enacting the shopping scene from Pretty Lady," he began in an attempt at humor to distract from the very real emotion wrapping around his heart and irreversibly tying him to the amazing man before him.

"There's no shopping scene in that movie, because that movie still doesn't exist," Peter scolded with fond humor and softly slapped Wade's arm for the error.

"But yeah, let's go shopping together. Get a new apartment somewhere. Buy new furniture and new clothes. Just a new everything to start a new life in there. A life without fear where we can finally be free together. I would like that."

Wade pulled Peter tightly up against his body. The tears flowed freely and, when he spoke, the telltale nasal quality to his voice spoke volumes. "Me too," he choked out.

Peter wrapped one arm around Wade's back and placed the other hand on the back of the merc's head. He had no tears left to cry himself, but he trembled slightly as he pressed himself against the man's body. Wade had changed Peter's life in so many ways and yet he himself was the only constant Peter had. Words couldn't describe just how important Wade was for him by now. There was no way Peter would ever let him go.

"Would you maybe want to go on a first date? Do it right this time?" Deadpool asked hesitantly after a long pause.

Peter laughed and squeezed Wade even tighter. "I would love to," he replied.

The mercenary maneuvered them from beneath the spray and lightly tugged on Peter's hair to get him to look up. He took the teen's lips once more in a passionate kiss and channeled all of his love and adoration into the tender slide of their tongues.

Wrapping both arms around Wade's neck, Peter gave himself over and let the man's affection wash away all the filth on his soul that the water of the shower couldn't reach.

Chapter 18

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Peter was waiting at the exact same lamp post at which Wade had approached him last week. Yes, it had only been a little over a week since their first encounter. It was unbelievable how much had happened in just a few days.

Peter's whole life had changed. He had quit his job, left his flat, met the Avengers, trained to control his powers, built his webshooters, killed Norman Osborn, and, most importantly, he had met Wade. What had started out as a lucrative job offer had turned into a deep, trustful relationship that Peter couldn't imagine living without anymore. He wanted to share his new life with Wade. Not only because Wade provided him safety and help, but also because being without the merc left Peter yearning for his presence. Not having Wade around felt terribly wrong.

He had made sure to wear the same clothing as on that first fateful night: his old sneakers, dark skinny jeans, black shirt and the indigo hoodie-jacket. Even his boxers with white and yellow stripes and his dark grey socks were the same, all freshly washed.

The flyer had still been hanging at the lamp post. Peter had torn it off and was now holding it in his hand. His old life as an escort felt like it lay back years ago, not only a week and a half. He had changed so much that he could hardly believe he was still the same person.

Letting his thumb slide over the smooth paper, Peter turned his head once again to see if Wade was anywhere to be seen.

"Mmmm, you're packed and you're stacked, 'specially in the back. Brother, wanna thank your mother for a butt like that," the merc's familiar baritone crooned from directly behind him.

Peter jerked slightly and spun around with a wide grin. His neck was prickling in excitement.

"Do you always approach complete strangers like that?" he asked, head tilted to the side and still grinning.

Unabashedly letting his eyes roam down Peter's lean body, Wade licked his lips and smoothed down the lapels of his tux. "It is when they're packing that much junk in the trunk. I mean, damn, kid. Did your momma leave any good looks for the rest of us?" he retorted with a lewd roll of his hips.

"Well, I wouldn't know," Peter purred. "Since you hide away under that BDSM-mask of yours. Trying to stay under the radar? Is the sex-police after you? Are they hunting you down for your really bad pickup lines?"

Wade chuckled and braced one of his hands on the lamp-post, leaning closer. "They're only bad if they don't work," he commented with faux aloofness. "So, do you need to report me, gorgeous? Or do you have a 'get out of jail free' card for me with your number on it?"

Peter's grin widened even further as he raised his hand to press the flyer against Wade's chest. "As a matter of fact, I do," he announced. "If you ask nicely, I'll even pick up the soap for you, only without the bars and the self-made tattoos."

"Ooo, kinky. Do they even do the whole tattoo shtick in Juvey?" he teased, then swallowed thickly as he perused the flyer. Incidentally, it was the exact same one Peter had handed him upon their first introduction, curvaceous butt cheeks and all. They were really going to have to explore this photography thing.

"I don't know, never been there. But who cares about Juvey? If you're searching for someone to do your shtick, I'm free right now," Peter offered.

"Oh my God, that was so bad," Wade snorted as he broke character. Shaking his head, he took a deep breath to center himself and canted his hips alluringly so that the taper of the suit hit his waist in all of the right ways and the lapels strained across his muscular pecs. "I dunno. I have a pretty big shtick, do you think you'll be able to handle it, Baby Boy?"

Peter had to giggle because of Wade's snort, but somehow managed to get back into character as well, even though he was still grinning. "Oh, I am very sure I can handle it," he assured. "And not only that. I'm certain my mouth could take it just as well as my hand, if you'd prefer that."

"Huh. Is what's advertised on the table?" Wade asked as he held up the flyer, denoting Peter's assets, between two fingers. "Cause I've got a hankering for two all-beef patties…" He stood fully upright and took a slow step forward. "Special sauce…" Another step. "Lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions…" Wade continued, as he herded Peter closer to the post with each word until the teen's back was pressed up tightly against it. At that point, he bracketed Peter in between his thick arms and leaned in until the teen could feel his breath. "On a sesame seed bun," Wade drawled, voice husky.

This time Peter had to snort with laughter. He quickly lowered his head to hide it, but trying to suppress his violent giggling only brought tears to his eyes. Wade was _terrible!_

"I, uh," he started, voice still thick with amusement. He had to chuckle again and cleared his throat to try and get back into the conversation. After a deep breath he managed to look up again, though the answer he somehow brought out was hardly understandable through the suppressed laughter.

"You like medium rare? Because if you want them well done, you'd have to do them yourself. Real hot, several times."

While Peter struggled to regain his façade, Wade used the opportunity to reach behind the teen and take two firm handfuls of buttock. "Fuck that. I'm going to work these babies until they're raw," he whispered, heedless of passersby.

Peter jumped a little at the touch, but it helped him to calm down again and become more serious.

"Don't forget to tenderize them first," he replied lowly.

"The hell do you think I'm trying to do?" the merc retorted with a broad smile that crinkled his mask at the sides. "Name's Wade, by the way. You should practice saying it now so that you can scream it later."

The teen smirked, finally fully back in his role. "Peter," he introduced himself. "But you don't have to remember that. I will give it to you so hard that you won't be able to scream anything."

"Mmm… Daddypool likey. So, what's the damage, kid? How much for, oh let's say the rest of your indeterminate arachnoid lifespan?" the merc inquired. He pulled his hands away reluctantly and adjusted his tenting trousers.

"Hmm," Peter hummed and let his hands slide over Wade's chest. "I will charge depending on how good you are. Who knows, maybe you'll get it for free?"

Wade smiled softly and fought the urge to say 'fuck the role-play' and just kiss his lover. Instead, he snuck a gloved finger in Peter's belt loop and tugged at his hips. "Damn, Hot Stuff. Sounds like I've got my work cut out for me," he observed. "How about we go someplace private and discuss the fine print more… intimately."

"I'd be all up for that," Peter nodded. "I'm willing to go over it again and again and again until we've looked at it from every angle."

Patience quickly evaporating, Wade started walking towards the street and pulled Peter along after him by his pants. "Blah, blah, blah, witty banter and thinly veiled references to my cock. Oh em gee, can we go now, Peter?" he whined when the teen didn't follow fast enough.

Peter laughed and caught up to Wade, placing his arm around the other man's waist. "Yeah, here I am. Good to see you, babe."

"Mmm, you too, you adorable little cock tease," the merc replied fondly as he draped an arm over Peter's shoulders and prayed that the walk signal would turn green from the force of his glare alone.

When the light failed to bow to his whim, he huffed a sigh and buried his face in Peter's atrocious hair.

"How did Bruce and Tony's boyfriend-stealing, labor camp go?"

Again, Peter laughed and squeezed Wade softly. "Awesome. I'm good to go. I'll work with them and earn some money to save up for college. Hopefully. I still don't know if my school will take me back to finish my last year, or if I'll have to get a GED, but Tony assured me we'll figure something out."

"Baby Boy, you know you don't have to do that. I could buy out the entire fucking university if you wanted me to," Wade chided. The walk indicator lit up and he reluctantly pulled his face out of Peter's hair in order to cross. Before the teen could respond, he continued happily chattering away. "Have I ever told you that I fuckin' love your wild fluff?"

"Yeah, right on the first day we met," Peter chuckled. "Back then I wanted to kick you in the face."

Wade nodded and stuck out his lower lip in thought. "Dually noted. What about your dorky, dimple-tastic smile? Have I mentioned how much I love that?"

"Huh. I think not specifically," Peter mused. "But you made it clear several times that you love pretty much everything about me, I guess."

"Well, yeah. But there are all these things, like little fuckin' Petey-isms, that I just can't seem to get out of my noggin. Like the way you chew your lip and flash those big brown eyes at me when you're about to blow. The way you trace my scars when you think I'm asleep. They're special, you know?" Wade continued, content with the way Peter's warmth bled through his tux jacket. People parted for them on the sidewalk, but neither man paid them any attention.

Peter smiled and leaned against Wade while walking. "Well, thank you. Should I start listing all the special things I love about you?"

The L-word brought him up short for a second, but Wade laughed it off and squeezed Peter's shoulder. "Nah, that would take _hours_ ," he quipped with affected confidence.

"It would," Peter confirmed. "Okay, then just the three most important ones. I love the way you nod your head along when you say something. You always do things 100%, even talking, and I find that amazing. I love the little wrinkles that form around the corners of your mouth when you smile and how it makes your face light up. You really look stunningly beautiful when you smile. And just super darn cute. And I love the way your skin feels on mine. When you touch me or when I touch you. It's so intense, so fascinating and it feels so good. Only _you_ can touch me like that, no one else. Oh, and I love the way you hold me so tight that your warmth burns all my fears and sorrows away like a ray of sunlight. That was four things, but I don't care, sue me."

Pedestrians cursed and made snide comments as Wade came to a standstill, pulled his mask up to his nose, and kissed Peter, slow and deliberately. New York could go fuck itself as far as Deadpool was concerned.

Peter hummed lowly and placed his hand on Wade's neck. When the kiss was over, he smiled softly and let his thumb run over Wade's skin.

"Yeah, I really love your kisses too," he stated fondly.

"You know, babe, the hotel's still another block. But there's a pretty convenient alley like right here," Wade reported as he tugged his mask back into place and adjusted his bowtie. With that kind of sweet talk, he wasn't going to make it to the hotel before jumping Peter's bones.

Peter laughed and shook his head in amusement. "First date in a shady alley? What's that supposed to be, man?"

"About on par with reenacting our first hook-up in a Ramada Inn? When you said start over, I didn't think you were being so literal," Wade jibbed in return. He tucked Peter back against his side and continued walking down the avenue.

"I'm not saying I want to reenact it precisely, but I don't think an alley comes close to what we had in mind. And _you_ were the one suggesting a first date here, if I may remind you," Peter smiled. "I'm sure the alley is still there when we come back, we can visit it later if you want to."

"Okay, one, I am so going to hold you to that later, all innuendos implied. Two, you told me to bring _cash_ ," the merc continued with a playful grin.

Peter laughed once more and gently shoved Wade. "That was a joke. But I'll stay true to my word about the alley," he smirked.

Wade merely groaned in response.

The Ramada Inn's welcoming façade rose up before them and made his stomach flip. This was where a chance encounter had led to the single best thing that had ever happened to him. He glanced warmly down at Peter and strode past the startled bellhop. There was no fear of rejection this time, no trepidation.

Deadpool bypassed the reception desk and approached the elevator confidently.

"Did you already book it?" Peter asked, following him.

Wade salsa danced his way into the elevator and spun in place, beckoning Peter to hurry up. "I—uh booked it for a few extra days after that first night. You know, just in case," he stated awkwardly.

Peter stared at him for a second before he broke into laughter. "Oh my God, you didn't!" he called out. "You obsessed little pervy stalker!" He poked Wade in the stomach, then leaned in and kissed his jawline. "You're such a creep. I hope you're aware of that."

"Yeah, but now I'm _your_ creep," the merc retorted. Somehow Peter had accepted him wholeheartedly despite the fucked up pile of shit that he was. The elevator chimed as it came to a standstill on the fourth floor.

"Obviously," Peter smiled as he left the elevator. He reached for Wade's hand to drag him along. "And I won't return you ever."

"Oh, that's good. I'm pretty sure I lost the receipt a long time ago anyways, so you'd only be able to exchange me for a different model. Though, I hear VenomPool mastered the twelve tongue positions of the Alpha Centauri. Soooo… maybe an upgrade isn't such a bad idea after all," Wade prattled on happily as they came to a stop just outside of Room 418.

"I can hardly take the version of you I already own," Peter chuckled. He leaned his back against the door, his body a tantalising curve, and looked up at Wade with bedroom eyes. His hand reached up and slowly ran down the merc's chest. "Babe," he hummed.

The merc grunted in question as he eyed the divots of Peter's hip bones and licked his lips beneath the mask.

"I want you to fuck me on and against every surface in this room," Peter responded.

Swallowing heavily, Wade's eyes snapped up to meet Peter's. He quickly fished the room key out of his jacket pocket and tapped the teen's nose with it. "I think I can do that." With that, he inserted the card into the reader and pressed the door open immediately when he heard the release of the door lock.

Peter let himself swing inside the room, holding onto the lapel of Wade's suit to pull him along.

"Great," he purred. "As soon as this door closes, I'm all yours, and you can do with me whatever you want. Completely for free."

"Wait, then what's the cash for?" Wade asked with a sly grin. He slowly began to shut the door in increments.

"To pay for a taxi tomorrow, because neither of us will still be able to walk," Peter grinned back.

Canting his head, Wade stuck the toe of his boot in the door just before it shut fully. "Which brings me to my rules. There aren't many," he began in a poor imitation of Peter's much higher voice. "But cross them and I'm out immediately."

Peter had to laugh. "Oh really?" he replied, trying to sound as serious as possible. "What are they?"

Deadpool held up two fingers. "First: I'm into anything hard, soft, and in-between. Biting, scratching, hugging, watching Sesame Street doggy style… whatever you want. Second: Affection at all times. And I expect smooching and tender stuff like that. Oh, and nick-names galore. That's all for right now because I honestly can't remember the other shit you said. So, do you accept my rules?" he asked as he lowered both fingers to point at where his foot kept the door cracked. "Or perhaps another hunky mercenary would suit your tastes better?"

Peter giggled and shook his head. "You're really cruel," he said, faking being offended. "I was just doing my job. And look what ignoring my own rules has gotten me into!"

Wade hung the 'do not disturb sign' and slammed the door shut as he approached Peter. He tugged at the drawstrings of Peter's hoodie until the teen stepped forward to meet him.

"Nah, those rules kept you safe and I'm not trying to make light of 'em, Baby Boy. I'm just fucking with you. But, I am glad that I could be an exception," he stated softly as he brushed a thumb over Peter's cheekbone.

"I know you are just joking around," Peter smiled and placed his arms around Wade's sides. "And I'm glad I let you be the exception. Because it turned out to be the most amazing thing to ever happen to me."

Those freely given words of adoration set off a series of subtle tremors just beneath Wade's skin. Taking in a rattling breath, he reached down and reverently began to unzip Peter's hoodie.

Peter smile softened. He let go of Wade's waist so the merc could free him of his jacket and shrugged it off his arms. "How about we take turns today?" he asked. "You wish for something we do, then I wish for something and so on? This way we can't blame each other for not stating our desires in favor of letting the other pick what we do."

Wade removed his mask with a shy smile and threw it blindly at the dresser. Asking for what he desired instead of merely capitulating to the whims of others was still a relatively alien concept for him. But Peter was tenacious in his intent to make their relationship something based in equality, a trait that Wade was infinitely grateful for. "Yeah, okay, Baby Boy. Can we start with make-out snuggles?" he asked tentatively.

Peter laughed fondly and placed a palm on Wade's cheek. "Yeah, we can have make-out snuggles," he agreed. "As long as you want."

"How long you got?" the merc teased as he bent down and scooped Peter up, one muscular arm behind the teen's back with the other supporting beneath his buttocks. There was something so undeniably satisfying about having those lean thighs locked tightly around his hips. Maybe it was the implicit trust with which Peter surrendered himself to the merc, or perhaps the easy sync of their bodies. Regardless, Wade couldn't get enough.

Chuckling, Peter wrapped his arms around Wade's neck and softly bumped their foreheads together. "I've got my entire life," he replied.

"Is that all? I'll have to go schmooze with Idun, then," Wade responded cryptically, then sunk one knee into the mattress and laid Peter down with nothing but reverence.

"As far as I know, my healing factor basically makes me immortal," Peter explained as he lay on his back. "So you don't have to worry." And also Peter didn't have to worry either. He didn't even want to imagine how Wade would feel if Peter died one day.

The merc settled between Peter's legs and propped himself up on his elbows. Overjoyed beyond belief at the revelation that he would never have to give this beautiful man up to the ravages of time, Wade leaned in and tenderly kissed the tip of Peter's nose. This close, he couldn't help but notice the way the teen's long lashes fluttered at the press of his body.

Peter smiled up at him slightly, letting his hands roam gently over Wade's back. "How about you kiss me now?" he whispered.

Even with their clothing still on and hands kept to relatively chaste areas, this felt far more intimate than when they first came together on this mattress. And when Wade finally closed the distance to press his mottled lips against the softness of Peter's own, it felt like coming home.

Peter gave a low, contented humming sound and placed one hand at the back of Wade's head. His entire body began to prickle and he shivered softly. Being trapped beneath Wade's warm, heavy, muscular body, tasting his mouth and smelling his familiar scent felt so incredibly good. It felt like home, like safety, like love. Like everything Peter needed and more. Opening his mouth to allow Wade's tongue to enter, Peter brought up one leg to sling it over Wade's lower body and hold him even tighter.

Their kiss was slow and unhurried, attempting to express so much more than mere lust in the heated slide of tongues. One of Wade's hands traced the gentle curve of Peter's hip and smoothed over the teen's jeans until it came to rest on his thigh. With that, he rolled them both to the side and hitched Peter's leg higher until it rested against the taper of his waist.

Peter shifted a little to be able to shove his hands between their bodies so that he could unbutton Wade's shirt and waistcoat. He was in no haste and took his time. Once all of the buttons were open, he gently pushed Wade over onto his back and sat up on top of him to pull the entire upper part of the tuxedo off of his body.

It was with great reluctance that the merc allowed Peter to pull away. The cool air hit his bare chest and only made the ache of Peter's absence against him that much more potent as he helped wriggle his arms out of the well-tailored suit. "Fuck. What are you doing to me, Petey," he whispered in awe once he finally settled to the bed and stared up at Peter's backlit face.

The teen smirked slightly. "It's called 'undressing'," he joked and ran his hands down Wade's naked chest. "I really love you in a tux, but I want to feel your skin. And nothing is more beautiful than those muscles of yours." He tilted his head to the side and let his fingers meander over Wade's abdominal muscles. "Though right now I'm wondering whether the jacket would emphasize those beautiful packages even more," he then hummed.

"Mmm. Hey, before we get any further, I gotta know something. Do you work for UPS?" Deadpool asked. The apparent non-sequitur brought Peter's hands to a standstill.

"Uh, no," Peter replied, slightly confused. "Why? What kind of bad joke is this leading to now?"

"'Cause I couldn't help but notice you were checking out my package!" Wade howled with laughter.

Peter's expression turned into annoyed resignation. It basically screamed "I am so done with you". Sighing, Peter laid his head back and looked at the ceiling for a second. He had to be strong now. So, so strong.

The long-suffering cast to Peter's body language set Wade off into another fit of laughter. "Oh, come on," he managed to say once he finally calmed down enough to speak. "This level of wit should be savored for the gift that it is!" He reached up and pulled Peter down by the collar of his shirt, planting another punishing kiss to his lips once the teen was within range.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm doing," Peter explained as they parted. "But if you want to play postman and recipient, I would be up for that."

"But I haven't gotten my _snuggles_ ," Wade whined.

"Aaaaaw, my poor Babypool!" Peter exclaimed and lowered himself down on the merc's chest. "Didn't get your snuggles! No! We have to change that! Come here!" He shoved his arms under Wade to press himself against his body tightly and nuzzled the side of the other man's neck. "Theeeere. All the snuggles for my Wadey-Baby."

Wiggling in contentment, Wade curled his arms around Peter as well. "Yeah, that's the stuff," he crooned happily.

Peter smiled and pressed a kiss onto Wade's skin. It was so cute how much Wade loved cuddles. Peter could do this all day, just to see Wade's happy face.

"Hey, I had an idea for our second date," he announced lowly, nestling his head against Wade's neck.

"What's that, Shnookums?" Wade asked, eyes closed and a goofy smile on his lips.

"How about we go to Coney Island?" Peter suggested. "This time I don't have to pretend to be your boyfriend there, after all."

Despite himself, tension crept back into Wade's shoulders. "Wait… what? But I thought we were…" he stuttered, unable to finish his question. The crushing weight of Peter's denial left a sudden, bitter taste in his mouth.

Alarmed by Wade getting tense, Peter raised his head to look at him. "No, no, no, no, no, wait! Wait, you got me wrong there," he quickly made clear. "I meant that now I actually _am_ your boyfriend and not an escort anymore who you wanted to hire to _play_ your boyfriend there. Because that was why I declined last time you asked me to go to Coney Island with you. But now that I am your boyfriend, there's no reason to not go there anymore. Okay? It's all good. All good. I'm sorry I phrased it that way."

"Oh," the merc responded simply, relaxing once more in stages. He held onto Peter tightly and relearned how to breathe, grounding himself in the familiar smell of Peter's skin. "Yeah, of course. That makes sense, I guess. I mean, I would fuckin' love to go with you."

And that was the honest truth.

He had asked Peter to come here and recreate their first meeting at the Ramada in the hope that those initial nights could be rewritten into more pleasant memories. Sure, the sex had been fantastic, but Wade wanted to remember his first time with Peter in the context of the teen's warm smile and loving tenderness. He wanted the torrent of Peter's acceptance to wash away the abject fear of rejection that still haunted his steps and replace it with something shiny and new, something resembling love. Coney Island would just be the frosting on top of the cake in that regard.

Wade buried his face in the teen's hair. "I bet we'll get kicked out for winning every single one of those stupid stuffed animals."

Peter smiled softly and pulled one hand away from under Wade to place it on the merc's chest. "I'll be content with one huge-ass stuffed animal," he said, tenderly caressing Wade's upper body. "One of those giant beasts that's at least as large as me."

"Ooo… Maybe I'll win you a life-size Deadpool one so that you can live out all of your merc-with-a-mouth fetish fantasies," Wade retorted with a soft roll of his hips.

"Ah, I actually prefer the original," Peter smirked, pressing down his lower body. "Also my fetish fantasies work better on living material."

"But, Babe, you would be missing out on a premier Double Mint Twins extravaganza. Double your pleasure, double your fun," the merc began to sing, punctuating each phrase with a strong gyration of his hips that left no room for interpretation.

"I doubt a plush version of you could give me what I need," Peter purred, shuddering from Wade's movement.

"Please, that's nothing that a pair of scissors and a tactically placed Fleshlight can't fix," Wade joked with an unattractive snort of laughter. He bucked his hips sharply and unloaded Peter off onto the bed in a graceless pile of long limbs, then quickly rolled the teen onto his stomach and pressed his swelling erection up against Peter's buttocks. "But, if you insist, I suppose we could always get the Captain America version."

Peter sharply drew in air at the press of Wade's dick. "No, I will only fuck you," he stated with gritted teeth. "And right now I want you to show me what one cock alone can do to me."

"One cock to rule them all," Deadpool sniggered. Rearing back, he tried to tug Peter's jeans down his hips to no avail. "Fucking vacuum sealed bullshit," he muttered as he blindly struggled with the fasteners and tried again. After a few choice curses, he finally unveiled the glorious twin mounds of buttock that had so captivated him when they first met.

The chuckling that Wade's reference had ignited in Peter sobered slightly into a wide grin due to the struggle with his pants. "I hope you forgive me that today you won't get to shove your fingers up my ass," he stated, wiggling the tight, firm work of art a little on the sheets. "This time I made sure we could start right away."

A lightning bolt shot straight from Wade's erection through his brain, arresting all cogent thought processes. "You little minx," he managed to stammer, eyes locked on the rim of silicone peeking from between Peter's pale cheeks. It was the exact same shade of red as his costume.

Peter's grin widened and he pushed up his hips a little to present his ass even further. "Like what you see?" he teased. "It's brand new. Just bought it this morning."

"Do I like what I see? The fuck do you think?" Wade asked incredulously. He gave Peter's buttocks a light pat, then followed it up immediately with a sharp slap that echoed in the small hotel room.

The teen groaned in arousal and appreciated pain and lifted his ass even higher. He didn't know why being spanked turned him on so much, but it definitely was the case and he would be damned if he didn't let Wade deliver for this kink so willingly.

A rosy blush suffused the flesh beneath Wade's hands as he continued to rain down a heavy barrage of blows, aim true despite Peter's squirming hips. The stinging bite of each impact only made the teen push back that much more eagerly. "Do you have any idea what you do to me, Spider-babe?" he panted as he rubbed a soothing palm over Peter's abused flesh.

"Do you have any idea what you do to _me?_ " Peter asked back, chest heaving. His dick was already at half mast by now.

"Fuuuck," Wade hissed in response to the husk of arousal in Peter's voice. He swiped a playful fingertip around the rim of the plug and tugged at it gently. The simultaneous sound of his fly being unzipped was almost loud in the space between them.

Peter relaxed his muscles around the plug so that Wade could pull it out. It gave a soft pop when it was fully removed.

Wade studied the shape of it for a brief moment, eyes lingering on the three stacked cones that were just slightly smaller than his own girth. Baby Boy had been deliberate in his selection; that deserved a reward, Wade thought with a grin. Giving Peter's ass one last playful tap, he ran one gloved hand down Peter's spine until the teen's shirt bunched around his shoulders. Then he seated the plug back in Peter's body with a slow, unrelenting press.

The teen gave a whining sound. "What are you doing?" he grunted. "I don't want this thing back inside me, I want you."

Chuckling, the merc completely ignored Peter's complaint and pulled on the plug so that the first cone base eased out, then pressed it right back in.

Shuddering, Peter gasped and closed his fingers around the bedcover beneath him. "Waaaade," he whined, pushing his lower body towards the merc. "Pleeeaaase…"

Cock weeping with precome, Wade closed his eyes and took a calming breath. "What is it you want, Baby Boy?" he asked as he repeated the process up to the second flare of silicone. He ground his hips against the exposed plug and pushed it back in with his pelvis. "You gotta use your words," he growled. The hand pressing down on Peter's shoulders slipped to rest on the back of his neck instead, effectively pinning him.

Peter moaned as the plug got dragged out and shoved back in, and writhed a little. Wade holding him down and torturing him like that was just too good.

"I want you to fuck me into the mattress with your dick, so hard that they will have to buy a new one," he panted, voice thick.

"Pretty sure I already fucked Weasel's credit card over with the thirty day hotel rental and security deposit. May as well," Wade commented to himself idly.

Returning his focus to the task at hand, he gently pried the butt plug out of Peter's hole and groaned at the sight of that pink pucker grasping at each inch of silicone as it slid free. "Shit," he groaned, absently tossing the plug over the side of the bed and lining his shaft up with Peter's entrance. Lube dribbled over his cockhead and onto the bedspread from where Peter had obviously filled himself with it before placing the plug. It was a wonder the stuff hadn't saturated those ridiculous skinny jeans.

Peter eagerly pressed back against Wade's member and gave a low, needy sound. "Fuck me," he mumbled, trembling slightly from anticipation. "Fuck me, Wade, please…"

"I will. But first you gotta tell me how you want it baby?" Wade choked out, trembling from the force of his restraint. He massaged around Peter's entrance with his glans, then angled his erection down so that he could rub his shaft through the drizzle of lube.

Peter gave a low moan and squirmed because he couldn't take the wait anymore. "I want you," he breathed out, "to start real slow, agonising slow, until I'm insane and am begging you to give me more. And then I want you to slowly step it up until you pound me so hard that I can hardly take it."

"Ah shit. Periscope down mother fuckers, we're going in," Wade tried to joke, but the hitch in his breath belayed his own need.

He shifted his weight and bore down even more firmly against Peter's neck, knowing that the teen could take it with ease. Then he engulfed the side of Peter's slender waist with his other hand and canted his hips. Peter opened up beneath him like a dream.

"Gorgeous," he whispered as Peter's body fluttered around the head of his cock and all but dragged him in.

A long, low moan from the teen accompanied every inch that slowly got buried in Peter's ass. "Fuuuck, this is so good," he grunted, forcing himself to keep his hips still.

As painful as it was not to just give into instinct and sheath himself, Wade pulled back until the flare of his glans caught against Peter's sphincter. He hovered there for a brief moment, then allowed himself to press back in only slightly. He bit his lip hard enough to bleed and repeated the agonizing tease.

Each slow drag made Peter shudder. Very soon he couldn't hold back anymore and tried to move his hips against Wade to make him go faster and harder. "Please, I need more," he muttered pleadingly. "Please give me more..."

Just to be contrary, Deadpool took his time peeling off one glove with his teeth. Once complete, he began to gently fondle Peter's balls where they hung heavy between the wanton spread of his legs. Only when Peter was reduced to a muttering, moaning mess did he allow himself to sink in halfway.

Moaning desperately, Peter writhed beneath Wade's grip and gave a whimpering sound. "PLEASE fuck me already," he whined. "Please, Wade! Please fuck me hard, I can't take it anymore! Please!"

The prayerful way Peter begged was almost too much to handle.

In one long, smooth push, Wade was seated fully within the warm haven of his Baby Boy. Whoever said that 'having is never as satisfying as wanting' was a fucking moron.

Peter moaned out long and loud and shuddered heavily from the sudden full penetration. "Yeah, like that," he whimpered. "Now please fuck me senseless, please. Please, I want to come so hard they can hear me scream your name on the street, Wade…"

"The street? Nah, I ain't gonna stop until all of Manhattan knows what they're missing out on," Deadpool panted. He immediately let loose and buried himself repeatedly, reveling in the frictionless slide. Falling into an absolutely brutal rhythm, his hips drove forward in time with his ragged exhalations. Wet squelches and slaps filled the room as their flesh met. Each powerful thrust drove Peter's face into the mattress and made the still-tender skin of his buttocks burn.

Screaming his lust out without any restraint, Peter tried to wrap his fingers around his own erection which was aching for attention. In between his deafening moans he managed to sob Wade's name, the man's thrusts making him fall apart rapidly. His body was burning, slick with sweat, and a pool of liquid fire was gathering in his abdomen, ready to erupt. The slightest friction on Peter's dick would make him come heavily.

But Wade was faster. The pistoning of the merc's hips didn't falter as he abruptly released Peter's neck and scrotum in favor of snatching his wrists out from beneath him and pinning them to the bed. The new position brought Wade's mouth up against Peter's sweat-slick nape. "Did I say you could come yet?" he rasped, punctuating each word with a particularly cruel thrust.

Peter sobbed again, the pleasure too much to take, and made a groaning sound that was supposed to mean "No". He couldn't form words anymore, as his entire body was overwhelmed by the powerful thrusts and the breathtaking lust they forced on Peter. His legs were shaking and each fiber inside of him burned so hotly that Peter was certain he would actually go up in flames any second. There was nothing he could do against Wade pinning him down and fucking him into oblivion and that just made it all the better.

The merc licked a long line up to Peter's earlobe and adjusted the angle of his cock to more directly stimulate the teen's prostate. "You're gonna come on my dick or not at all, you got it?" he stated in what was meant to be a commanding tone but came out as more of a plea.

Peter nodded with a pitiful whimper. The withheld orgasm was painful by now, but in an addicting, far too arousing way. Peter couldn't help but to writhe and shudder underneath Wade, his body unable to contain the feeling of being overused. "Please," he sobbed, his eyes actually wet from tears. "Please let me come, I can't-..." He couldn't go any further and even the first half of the sentence was hardly understandable.

Too far gone to keep up the game, Wade gave into Peter's pitiful moans and wrapped his bare hand around the teen's shaft, pumping it in time with his pistoning.

Peter came immediately, giving a loud scream again that ended in an almost painful sob. His legs gave way so that he slumped down a little, still jerking from the world-shattering orgasm which wasn't quite over yet.

Wade slowed his pace and let Peter ride out his pleasure until the tight contractions of his sphincter eased. As soon as Peter was through, the merc pulled out and rolled him sideways with enough force that the teen wound up collapsed bonelessly on his back, knees bent and partially splayed. Licking his lips at the slice of debauchery laid out before him, Wade knelt on Peter's jeans where they were still wrapped around his ankles and stroked himself to completion with the same hand that was still doused in Peter's come. Release hit him so hard that his eyes snapped shut of their own volition and a hearty groan escaped his lips unbidden. When his cock pulsed one last time and he finally came down enough to look at his lover, he was greeted with the sight of his come marking Peter's chest in flowing, white script.

Peter smiled up at him, still panting. "I'm officially marked as yours now," he announced. Then he ran his index finger through the thick liquid and licked it from the tip.

"You are so unbelievably perfect," Wade gasped in response. He collapsed over Peter on elbows and knees in order to chase the taste of their combined fluids on the teen's tongue.

Peter placed his hands on the merc's cheeks. His breathing slowly evened, his body cooled down, the throbbing in his temples eased and his muscles relaxed completely. This was so much better than the sex they had had the last time on this bed.

"Alright, while you find two brain cells to rub together, I'ma go get a towel," Wade teased as soon as he had calmed down sufficiently to climb off of the bed. Splashing water sounded from the bathroom and when Wade returned, it was with a warm, wet cloth in hand. He crawled onto the bed and reverently removed the evidence of their joining from the teen's skin with soft, lingering strokes.

The tender, loving treatment brought another smile upon Peter's lips. "Thank you," he hummed.

"No, thank you," the merc shot back with a grin. Once Peter was cleaned to his satisfaction, Wade tossed the towel over the headboard and settled on his side, propped up on one elbow. His cock laid flaccid, but long and thick against the black wool trousers.

Peter sat up to get rid of his clothing completely before he lay back down, his head turned so he could look at Wade. "Your turn again," he stated. "You wished for the snuggles, I wished for the punishment-fucking. What's up next?"

"More snuggles?" Wade asked with a cheesy grin.

Chuckling softly, Peter turned onto his side. "You're easy to please," he noticed.

"Pretty much," the merc agreed readily. "Mmm… now, I know it's greedy, but can I ask for a two-parter?"

"Sure," Peter nodded and propped his head on his hand. "What do you want?"

"Well, the snuggles go without saying. They're pretty much the best thing in life," Wade began as he struggled to kick his loafers off and shed the trousers. "Then, once you're swooning in my arms like a funnier, sexier Julia Roberts, I want to make love to you."

"Yeah, but how?" Peter asked. "I mean, that we're having sex is kinda clear, I thought, isn't it?"

"Hold up, now," Wade said incredulously, taken aback enough to sit up and stare down at Peter.

"Making love is not _just_ sex. It's all emotional and symbolic and shit. Like, the plot has come full circle now and, instead of being all 'blah blah butt pirates get the booty, not the girl,' we get to stare into each other's eyes longingly and argue over baby names and… you know what, I'm gonna stop myself there." While he had started in a joking manner, his voice trailed off at the end. Wade settled down next to Peter once more and pulled the teen closer so that he was tucked against Wade's chest. "I love you with every fiber of my being, Peter, and I want to show you instead of just spouting off at the mouth. I don't just want sex. I want you."

Peter blinked at Wade in confusion. "I know what 'making love' means," he stated lowly. "I just thought since we are in love, our sex basically is love-making at all times… Sometimes just a little more rough and sometimes a little more tender. But I'm sorry if I got that wrong."

The world came to a sudden, screeching halt. "Wait… what? 'We?'" Wade whispered, glad that his lover couldn't see the pained grimace on his face. "Please don't play with me like that, Peter."

"What? What do you mean?" Peter wanted to know. He sounded genuinely surprised. "I'm not playing with you. Did I say something wrong again? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

"It's not your fault. Just please don't bandy about the L-word like that if you don't mean it," Wade responded brokenly. He subconsciously pulled Peter even tighter against him.

"... Oh," Peter realized. He raised a hand and gently placed it over Wade's heart. He was quiet for a moment until he was able to bring out the next sentence. "But I meant it," he then whispered.

A wave of sweet benediction swept through Wade at the whispered admission, as light as a zephyr. All of the loss and misery in his life was blown away for that one brilliant instance to be replaced with the alien concept of hope. Peter cared for him. Peter _loved_ him.

His shoulders began to tremble, then shake in earnest as he fought to contain a sob.

"Shhhh," Peter tried to soothe him immediately. "Shh, sh, sh, sh, sh, hey. Hey, it's all good. No need to cry, babe. No need to cry." Peter scooted up to wrap his arms around Wade's head and shoulders. He repeatedly kissed Wade's bald head as he softly pressed the merc against himself and caressed his arm. "It's okay, I'm here. And I always will be."

Overwhelmed, Wade embraced Peter's waist and murmured praise into the damp skin of his chest. Once he had calmed himself sufficiently, he turned his head up to press a salty kiss to Peter's lips. "Thank you. Love you too, Baby Boy," he croaked, voice thick with emotion.

Peter smiled softly and gave Wade's head a soft stroke. "I know," he assured. "And I will tell you that I love you as often as you want to hear it."

Wade eased himself up and rolled over so that he was once more nestled between Peter's legs, the bulk of him supported by his elbows. "Every second. Every Minute. Every hour of the day, for the rest of our Dorian Gray lives," he stated, punctuating each sentence with a lingering kiss.

Peter giggled lowly and wrapped his arms around Wade's neck. "Yeah, just like that," he confirmed, a huge smile plastered over his face. As they went back to kissing each other lovingly, it felt like their hearts beat in perfect sync. This was the first day in their new life together and it was going to be a great one. As long as they had each other, everything was going to be perfect.


End file.
